Sympathy for the Bridegroom
by Ms Towa
Summary: Three years after Sympathy for the Devil, Lovino is almost ready to become the Demon King's Prince Consort of the Underworld, but then arises a slight complication. Between royal lessons, ghost hunts, and avoiding exorcists, there really might not be time to plan an actual wedding.
1. Prologue

**Title: **_Sympathy for the Bridegroom_ (Sequel to _Sympathy for the Devil_)  
**Pairing:**England/S. Italy (Romano)  
**Genre: **Romance and Supernatural, Action&Adventure, Drama&Comedy  
**Rating:** T/M  
**Warnings****:** Adult language, suggestive content, (fantasy) violence, use/mention of alcohol/drugs, some minor religious undertone

**Prologue**

"_Aiya_!" hissed Yao as he slapped Lovino upside the head with his palm. The Italian hissed in surprise as he narrowed his eyes at the Chinese dragon. When the raven haired daemon didn't flinch under his glare, Lovino reluctantly sat straight in his seat, which happened to be to the right of Arthur's throne within the meeting hall at the round table. They had given him a new chair at the table ever since they had announced their engagement, and although it was nowhere as regal as Arthur's, it was definitely much more elegantly carved than those of the Four Lords, the Scribe, and the Demon Princes. Unfortunately, he happened to be seated between Arthur and Yao Wang, who was supposed to be tutoring him about the Underworld alongside Kiku, who stood diligently behind Arthur like the butler he was. "No slouching!" Yao snapped, glowering pointedly at Lovino. "Members of the royal family do not slouch! Sit with back to chair with your back straight! Shoulders back, chest out!"

"What the hell does it matter?!" Lovino shrieked with great vexation present in visage. His cheeks glowed an enraged scarlet as his body tensed—ready to pounce on Yao and attack him for being way too picky—with a hint of embarrassment. Dammit, he thought to himself, I really don't need to be reminded that I'm marrying into a batshit crazy family! It's none of his business anyway! Refocusing himself, he added, "I'm only around _you bastards_!" This he directed to everyone present in the meeting hall. Gilbert and Mathias gave their friend a cheeky wave while Francis ignored him and instead concentrated his attention on hunting down any possibilities of split ends in his gorgeous hair, pondering if it was time for a trim. Ivan merely smiled innocuously at him, and although the vampire count appeared to mean no great bodily harm to Lovino, the smile only sent shudders down his spine. In the meanwhile, Arthur's brothers and cousins and his future brothers/cousins-in-law only snickered mischievously at Lovino's current circumstances—except for Owain, who was napping through the entire ordeal.

"Can you take this more seriously?" Yao retorted, narrowing his eyes at the consort to-be and his king's fiancé. "Everyone is expecting a noble consort, so behave yourself properly!"

Lovino scoffed but made no comment. Really, in the pits of his stomach, he knew himself that deep down inside he was extremely nervous and apprehensive. He did not want to be rejected by Arthur's people, especially if it made eternal life more difficult. Much to Yao's disapproval once again, he dropped his hazel gaze to his lap and fiddled with the hem of his shirt under the cover of the round table. He froze when Arthur's hand discreetly reached for his, but once his lover's hand had grasped his own, he relaxed at the cold touch, allowing it to cool his skin.

"So what did you wankers want to discuss?" Arthur asked nonchalantly and collectedly as though he wasn't in fact flirting with his future consort and Italian lover while in the middle of a meeting. "I would assume that you called us here for a reason. It does not concern liquor being served at the reception, does it? Gilbert, Mathias, we _will_ have kegs of beer there, so you do not have to worry. They will also serve wine and champagne for you, Frog—_French_, if you so please."

"Actually, it's not the awesome me who has an awesome report, and, besides, if I wanted to talk about some awesome _Bier_,then I would have tracked you down myself," Gilbert protested, raising his hands to show that he had no tricks hiding in his sleeves. He shrugged casually and remarked, "I think it was Alistair who called us out."

Arthur averted his eyes from Gilbert to make contact with his oldest brother. He didn't bother to waste time to address the redhead with any formalities and simply waited for the oldest prince to explain himself. Likewise, his oldest brother thought the same way and didn't hesitate at all to speak, making his announcement short, straight-forward, and to the point.

"One of the prisoners escaped from Hell during a work inspection."

Arthur arched an eyebrow to display to the Prince of Wrath that he certainly had the King's attention.

"I think it's him again."

"Ah..." A sound of recognition loosened itself from Arthur's throat, and although he did not appear to be in the slightest bit worried, Lovino noticed the darkening of his emeralds. "Knowing him, he wouldn't try anything—at least not yet. Should we wait until he tries to start something?"

"What if it will be too late?" Yao countered.

"Don't be such a paranoid bugger," Arthur snapped. "It's not like we won't know where he is, and at any rate, he's alone, isn't he?"

"Wait," Lovino spoke up, drawing all of the attention to him. He recoiled briefly from the shock and managed to spit out after a moment's stammer, "W-What are we talking about? _Who _are we talking about?"

Alistair gave a half-hearted smile and replied, "Just a fool who's always trying to give wee Artie here a bit of trouble."

* * *

"Lili, you _have_ to be careful!" nagged a young man with short, choppy blond hair stuffed under a white beret as he marched down the streets of Rome hand-in-hand with his sister dressed in a forest green jacket with two white crosses at the sleeves to signal his involvement with the Church. He grimaced as he felt another supernatural presence watching them even though it was most likely the stares he was attracting. While his minty green eyes glared at nothing in particular, he spoke angrily in German, chastising a blonde girl with a similar hairstyle as that of his (though her blonde locks were adorned with a silk ribbon), "How many times have we gone over this? If you _ever_ sense another presence or if you ever interact with a supernatural being—ghost or vampire or _whatever—_you _must_ keep me informed!" His fingers twitched impatiently with great aggravation, and the urge to grasp one of his handguns and fire a silver bullet into a werewolf's flesh a couple of times was all too overwhelming. "If you don't help me, I can't protect you, Lili! You _know_ I cannot see ghosts!"

He glanced over the shrinking girl cowering in his shadows as her green eyes watered with tears. Still, they did not fall in spite of the subtle pout on her lips. She knew well at mind and heart that her brother was strict, and this did not at all come as a surprise to her at all even though a part of her was slightly indignant. "Big _Bruder_," she retorted softly, "he was only a child."

"Child or not, a ghost is a ghost!" the older of the two snapped severely and harshly. "It could have harmed you somehow. Poltergeists have nasty tricks to play, after all! What if you had been hurt? Listen, Lili, they do not belong here on Earth." He was reminded of the rumours about which the Vatican had told him on his last debriefing. It seemed that a particularly dangerous soul had escaped from Hell and was now roaming the surface of Earth. A scowl of disgust and repulsion stretched across lips as he thought, The damned should just stay where the hell they belong—in Hell. Just leave us alone!

Honestly, he wanted nothing to do with Heaven or Hell; all he wanted was to remain a neutral party in the affairs of the universe and to let these affairs run their course. It had nothing to do with him at all, and it actually mattered very little to him. Nevertheless, the only work he could seem to obtain and execute efficiently was "mercenary" work for the Vatican. They paid very well to hire exorcists and exterminators, and that was all he needed to make sure that Lili lived a comfortable life. Unfortunately, he had failed to realise then that these otherworldly creatures would become attached to an innocent, naïve soul such as that of Lili's. He could buy her pretty dresses and feed her delicious food—all as long as they were reasonably price, that is—that she wanted, yet she never seemed to want anything. Rather, it appeared that she disapproved of his occupation, but he couldn't do anything about it. He was good at his job, and his job paid the bills well. He had mouths to feed, after all.

"_Dio mio_!" one of the locals exclaimed, their shrill cry piercing through the air. The pair of siblings directed their attention momentarily to the source of the panic, where they found a forming crowd. Someone was calling for an ambulance while others were simply observing the scene. The young man merely clicked his tongue in disdain. He hated getting involved with other people and impatiently tugged on his little sister's hand to lead her away from the scene. However, Lili had other ideas and instead led him towards it instead.

Just as they elbowed their way to the front of the crowd, Lili immediately gasped with horror, a tremble running up and down her spine, as she clutched desperately at her brother's hand with tears in her green eyes. She buried her face into her brother's forest green coat as her body paled. "_B-Bruder_," she whispered weakly in a pleading voice, and he knew exactly what she was asking him to do. He brought out his phone and dialled the emergency number even though he knew it did little good at this point. There was no way anyone would survive that kind of impact, but as a human being, he couldn't leave the body of a boy no more than a college student lying in the middle of road in his own pool of blood. His coppery hair was stained a darker tinge, and his fair skin was now caked with drying liquid crimson.

A few feet away from him was a little kitten with soft brown hair, meowing desperately for the boy to hear her cries, but he would not respond. He could not respond. She didn't stop, and neither Vash nor Lili knew if it was because she would not or could not stop.

* * *

Lovino threw his blazer haphazardly onto Arthur's ancient Victorian sofa, which they had moved into the Tower, before collapsing onto the furniture as well. He groaned as he stretched, moaning, "My back... Damn that dragon bastard—correcting my posture in the past _five hours_!"

Arthur merely chuckled as he fingered through the various shelves of his library, moving closer to his collection of plays among the numerous novels and innumerable spellbooks, tomes, and grimoires. He plucked a rather thick book from the shelf and smiled bitterly to himself—unbeknownst to Lovino—as he cast a quick glance at the title of the Shakespearean play, _Hamlet_. He shuffled towards the centre of the room with one of his copies of the play in his hand, where they had placed the Victorian sofa, to join his lover and knelt one of his knees on the cushions as he leaned closer, resting his forehead atop Lovino's. He relished the surging heat as his lover flushed with embarrassment, tilting his head to the side so to avert his eyes from Arthur's. Predicting this move, Arthur pressed the palm of his right hand into the cushion, preventing Lovino's possible escape, and readjusted Lovino's head by the chin with his left hand. Warm hazelnuts stared into crystal emeralds with tender affection as the two of them leaned closer into the other, closing the distance between them. Their lips ghosted against one another before tiny footsteps thundered from the spiralling staircase, working up the steps one by one, which ultimately made the two lovers break apart and scurry to separate ends of the Victorian sofa as a tiny voice boomed outside the door of Arthur's Tower, "Romano! Phone call! It's important!"

Just as soon as Alfred's announcement came to a close, Lovino's mobile rang from the pocket of his trousers. He cursed under his breath and scrambled to fish out his phone. One of his eyebrows raised—entirely baffled and puzzled—as his eyes fell upon the unknown number. He glanced at Arthur, who was pouting at one of the walls childishly, and decided to heed Alfred's notification and answer the call instead. After accepting the call with a flick of his thumb, Lovino brought the smartphone to his ear and stated firmly, albeit annoyed, "_Sì, chi parla_?"

"_È questo Signor Lovino Vargas?_" inquired a feminine voice from the other end of the line. "This is _ l'Ospedale San Carlo_ calling to inform you of a matter concerning your brother, _Signor_ Feliciano Vargas. Please listen to me carefully.

"Your brother has been in an accident."

* * *

**A/N:** There were some readers who wanted a continuation of _Sympathy for the Devil_, and I did admittedly want to explore that universe a little more. There's a new plot that revolves around different struggles and problems that Lovino and Arthur have to face. Additionally, this story engages more of Arthur's past, but I'm hoping there will be more insight to his future with Lovino. Anyway... Yay? Or nay?


	2. Chapter 1

**I: Spectacle**

"Do you mind telling me just _how the hell_ you got ran over by a car again, Felici?" Lovino seethed angrily as he glared at his younger brother mercilessly. Unfortunately, Feliciano didn't so much bat an eye at his brother's reaction. He only continued to smile that dopey grin of his while floating three damn inches off the floor of his mutt-infested apartment in Rome. It smelt like wet dog, and the older Vargas brother was pretty damn happy that he moved out as soon as he did. If he hadn't, Lovino was sure that it would end up becoming some sort of doggy shelter for the werewolves that moved into the apartment in one way or another, marking it as part of their territory in Italy, with how the Kerberos bastards kept visiting Feliciano.

Still, that wasn't the problem at the moment. It was more important that they work through Feliciano's current... _circumstances_... even though the idiot brother didn't seem to be taking this very seriously at all. Perhaps he wasn't aware of the gravity of the situation, but, nevertheless, it didn't make the issue at hand any smaller. Lovino clicked his tongue in blatant disapproval of his younger brother's behaviour and crossed his arms, slightly unnerved by the fact that his brother was now hovering over his head. It really shouldn't bother him because strange things have been happening to him all the time for a little over seven years now, but it really did bother him—_a lot_ actually—from time to time—especially in situations like this.

"Ve, it was a cold winter's day when it all started," Feliciano began merrily as he swam through the apartment in mid-air. Lovino fought the urge to whack his brother upside the head as well as the urge to strangle his brother by the neck. The first time he tried that upon seeing him in _this_ form, Lovino phased right through his younger brother. Feliciano then laid on his back, floating aimlessly in the atmosphere, as he recounted his story, "I was shopping for groceries, ve, and then I saw a cute little kitty named Pookie—well, I named her Pookie—and felt so bad that she was all alone in the cold."

"It's not that cold in Rome, dammit," Lovino grumbled under his breath as he glared at his little brother. At his brother's comment, Feliciano bolted upright and pouted childishly at Lovino. Now in a sitting position, Feliciano hovered closer to Lovino, throwing his arms in the air, flailing about, and gesticulating as often as he could to get his point across.

"Ve, but it was cold enough that Pookie was shivering, _Fratello_! Anyway, I tried taking her home with me, but Ludwig said that the apartment didn't allow pets. He kind of looked funny about the whole thing though, honestly. Gilbert started reacting weirdly to the Pookie, too, so I had to find Pookie a new home. I was going to ask Kiku to take care of Pookie, but then Pookie jumped out of my arms and into the road. I tried chasing after Pookie, but then there was a _really_ loud honk. When I turned my head, I was staring into headlights, _Fratello_!" He sighed, the exhale coming out as a weak "Ve..." and stared at the ground. "I was in a white room for a while, talking to a really nice voice about your and Arthur's wedding. The next thing I knew, you were already done with the funeral yesterday."

Damn, Lovino really needed to sit down. This was all too much for him. Collapsing onto the sofa without questioning if it had been infested with fleas, Lovino buried his head within his hands. "Good God," he muttered, "all of this for a cat?"

Only three weeks ago, Lovino had received a call after returning from an important meeting regarding the stability of Hell with his lover from the hospital to be asked to identify his brother's body. He had immediately dialled one of his employees to inform them that he wouldn't be dropping by the café that day and left management temporarily to one of his more serious part-timers, a young college student named Luce, for the hospital with Arthur, where the two of them had met with his cousin Antonio. Both Arthur and Antonio had tried to calm him down—but to no avail. Feliciano and Antonio were his only family after an uprising in their household seven years ago that had ended up with the eradication of an entire Mafia family. Honestly, he didn't know what he would have done with his brother dead, losing his life to—evidently—save a damn cat that was now pissing all over the carpet because it wasn't potty-trained. Instead, he had underwent the motions of planning a funeral for his little brother—at least the body by the looks of it now—and put all wedding plans to a halt with Arthur's understanding along with everyone else who was looking forward to a ceremonious event. However, only a few moments ago, when he returned to his old apartment—now, as mentioned before, infested with werewolves—to pick up Feliciano's belongings and to pack them up and put them away, he had discovered Feliciano's... _ghost_, maybe? Lovino didn't know what Feliciano was at the moment, and now that his obviously dead brother was floating in front of him, Lovino really didn't know what to do any more either. He was once again at a complete loss.

"_Fratello_?"

"Who else can see you?" Lovino demanded grumpily.

"Uh... So far," he began recalling whom he had encountered in the last few hours, "Just you—and Pookie, of course!" Upon the mention of her new name, the little brown cat meowed. Lovino felt his eye twitch with indiscreet irritation. He didn't even bother to hide it.

"Can you leave this damn apartment?" Lovino asked in a rather vitriolic and seething manner. He really didn't have the patience for this shit. It seemed that Feliciano hadn't even realised that he was _dead_, or maybe he had but was feigning innocence or some really stupid shit that was driving Lovino up the damn wall. When Feliciano gave a short nod of his head after a moment's contemplation, the older Vargas brother inclined his head to the door. "Then follow me, dammit! We don't have time to waste!"

"Where are we going?" Feliciano asked curiously as he glided behind his brother, watching as Lovino unlocked the door. Feliciano trailed after his brother and waited patiently for his brother to lock the door with his old—and now useless since he could phase right through everything—key.

"To someone who can fix this mess, dammit," Lovino grunted.

"Like who?"

"Like Arthur! I don't know!"

"Artù?" Feliciano repeated inquisitively, following Lovino as the older Vargas stomped angrily down the pavement. Civilians and tourists alike moved away from the seething brunet upon sensing his foul mood and temper. "Ve, what can your _fidanzato_ do? I mean, he's smart—_super_ smart—but I don't know, _Fratello_. I don't think there's any science behind this."

"_Chigi,_ no shit, _idiota_!" Lovino shrieked, earning himself a few curious and frightened stares of onlookers who couldn't see his dead brother. He felt heat surge to his cheeks, reddening them with shame and embarrassment, before he dropped his gaze to the ground, muttering under his breath, "Of course, there's no science behind this—any of this—but Arthur knows everything there is to know about crap like this. Just shut up and trust your _fratellone_, Felici."

Although his pleas were too soft to be heard, Feliciano could make out the most of it, and, more importantly, he could definitely sense the fact that his brother was distressed. Despite the fact that Feliciano had trouble "reading the atmosphere," he was especially sensitive to a person's depressive mood. For Lovino to feel this way—especially when his wedding date, if it wasn't postponed, was so close—particularly struck a chord of despair within Feliciano. Together, the two of them sulked in the direction of Arthur's apartment. Feliciano waited for his brother to open the door before following after him even though he could have easily passed through the walls of the apartment.

The two of them were immediately confronted with the sight of Arthur fiddling with a carving knife and an unfinished toy soldier. On the floor of the living room, Alfred and Matthew were fighting a war with blue coated soldiers against Neeraja and Jia Long and their red army while Angelique was building a colourful tower out of cubed blocks for the damsel in distress. Kiku remained in the background with his ears and all nine of his tails out, cleaning one of Alfred's dirtied jackets caked with mud and grass stains. Upon sighting Lovino, the children beamed and instantaneously huddled around the Italian, chirping about how their day had gone all at once and chiming about what they would like for dinner. Lovino greeted them with a weak smile, and Feliciano noticed how much gentler Lovino behaved around children. He mused with a smile that he was glad Lovino was marrying into this family.

Kiku, sensing the solemn atmosphere with which the two brothers had entered the manor, escorted the children outside to play under the Roman sun after bundling them into their winter coats. Lovino gave Kiku a curt nod of appreciation, grimacing at the realisation that he was quite easy to read, before shyly meeting Arthur's curious gaze. "It looks like a lot has happened," Arthur remarked pointedly as he cast Feliciano a brief glance that the younger Vargas brother had missed entirely. "How long has he been around?"

"Dammit," Lovino grunted indignantly as he stomped angrily towards his lover. He sunk into the spot next to him on the sofa but kept a decent amount of space between them since his dead brother was watching them. "I don't know! Maybe just yesterday! I only encountered him a few hours ago, and it still doesn't make sense to me!"

"Ve... _Fratello_, are you talking about me?" Feliciano queried innocently as he floated towards his older brother, peering at Arthur curiously as the blond contemplated something. His green eyes appeared distant, but in Feliciano's opinion, Arthur always looked pretty spacey. It was like he was never really on Earth.

"Who else would I be talking about, dammit?!" Lovino snapped at Feliciano. He wasn't angry or pissed off in anyway, actually, only frustrated, and frustration often led to aggression. There was no other options for Lovino to vent his anger, and if he had to choose between yelling at Feliciano and Arthur, the older Italian would most definitely choose Feliciano in a heartbeat. After all, his brother was—as proven by current circumstances—an idiot, and Arthur could most likely help him only if he was in an agreeable mood. His British lover had a temperament just like him, but the only difference was that Arthur was much stronger and more powerful. His threats were thereby more menacing than anything Lovino could dish out.

"This could be pretty bad then," Arthur spoke up suddenly, regaining the attention of the Vargas brothers.

"W-What are you talking about, bastard?"

"I'm saying that Feliciano might have a regret chaining him to this world, and unless someone resolves it, then he cannot pass onto his next life," Arthur explained nonchalantly, crossing his arms, although his emeralds noticeably darkened with concern. This was, after all, his lover's only immediate family. Having just lost Feliciano, Lovino had been extremely depressed in the past three weeks, and Arthur absolutely loathed seeing his beloved spitfire in such a state. "He'll be trapped on Earth with only the Otherside for company, and that's dangerous as well, considering two factors. One would be that demons sometimes feed on ghosts seeing that they're disembodied souls."

"What..." Lovino faltered, fearing the worst, before he gulped and swallowed his hesitation, pushing it to the back of his mind. He brought himself to speak again, "What's the second factor?"

"Exorcists," Arthur answered shortly. "You see them all the time on the telly or in films, but they really do exist. Each one has a different reason for exorcising ghosts, but the consequences converge either way. If Feliciano cannot pass onto his next life, they _will_ erase your brother's existence—just as they've done with the weaker, lower daemons." Arthur turned his head, locking his eyes together with Feliciano. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Lovino paled noticeably, and even Feliciano managed to process that bit of information with disbelief and incredulity. He sunk to the floor as though his limbs were actually touching the wooden surface in a position that had suggested he had collapsed to his knees. Had he a physical body, his eyes would have watered with tears but they were simply enlarged now and filled with terror. The older Vargas brother noticed for the first time the faint crimson tinge in Feliciano's now translucent eyes. Just as he phased through most material objects, his complexion—no, his entire being—was transparent.

"I'll... disappear?"

"Essentially," Arthur responded brusquely, "if we do not intervene or if you do not take charge in matters regarding your fate." He set aside his carving knife and his project to stand in front of Feliciano. Feeling a shadow fall over him, the young man raised his head, and his amber eyes met with a pair of emeralds somewhat acidic in colour. "What will you do?"

"I... I just want to see _Fratello_ marry," Feliciano confessed sheepishly as he continued staring into Arthur's endless emerald pools. They were like the abyss, and Feliciano was drowning in them with fear and apprehension. "That's all I ever wanted! He's always looked so happy with you, Artù! I don't know what these 'regrets' are that are keeping me here, but, really, that's all I want!"

"Then listen to me carefully, lad," Arthur requested of the Italian boy as he knelt on the wooden floor. "It is very dangerous for you to be here now. There has been a new evil from the depths of Hell lurking in the shadows, and I believe he has been hiding in my home in London. I was considering on returning to London sometime this week with Lovino after we stored your belongings in the attic. You may believe that you are safe here in Rome, but with the Vatican so close by, it is unlikely that this is the safest place for you here. Your chances of becoming exorcised are much greater here than in England. If you come with us to London, we can help you ascend to Heaven. If you are scared to venture out of Italy, then you can stay here, and I will arrange for someone to help you."

Feliciano didn't even need a second to consider and weigh his options. He reached for the sleeve of Arthur's blazer, only for his grasp to slip through Arthur's physical body entirely. He whined, croaking out a desperate, "Don't leave me all alone! I want to go with you and _Fratello_! I don't want to be alone!" No tears slipped from his eyes of amber blended with liquid crimson, but there was a faint glimmer of particles of white light rolling down his phantasmal cheeks. Mortification struck Lovino as he realised once again that his brother was no longer alive. He wanted to wail and to sob, to curse God for this situation, for condemning his innocent little brother, but Feliciano was already bawling tearless cries like the spectre he now was. The lights in the house flickered and flashed like lightning, and the pots and pans in the kitchen whirled around like a storm, echoing like thunder, as Feliciano screeched and shrieked and shrilled and sobbed. Neither Arthur nor Lovino could reach towards him and comfort him.

After all, they could not touch him.

Instead, they waited for him to calm himself until Arthur stood and walked towards the front door, muttering something about changing their location. Only a few moments later, a flash of light burst through the windows, signalling a change in scenery, and Arthur returned to the living room and told them that he would need to contact the Council. With that, he climbed upstairs and left the two brothers to themselves to discuss anything of relative importance.

"Ve... How is it that we are in _Inghilterra_ already?" Feliciano mused as he stuck his head out of the window to peer curiously at his new surroundings. It would have been more accurate to say that he stuck his head through the window glass though. Lovino reclined on the sofa as his fiancé locked himself in the bathroom to use the mirror to communicate with the Otherside—or, rather, the Underworld—in order to reach his comrades. "_Fratello_, what _is_ Artù? How come he knows so much?" Feliciano turned to face his brother, blinking his amber and crimson eyes owlishly, as he asked that question with nothing more than inquisitiveness in his features. "You've been seeing him for almost four years now, but you never told me what he does or how you met him, ve." His eyes dropped to the floor as a sudden realisation hit him, and a storm of disappointment and dismay washed over his transparent features. "Did you not trust me?"

"It's not that I didn't trust you, dammit," Lovino grunted as he crossed his arms. "You just never asked. I didn't think you would want to know, _idiota_." He ignored the fact that it would have been normal for a person to introduce their fiancé to their family _properly_. Arthur simply walked into their lives, and Lovino expected Feliciano to be okay with his presence. For the most part, the younger brother accepted Arthur easily enough even though he did question how the blond managed to travel between Rome and London without any difficulties each and every day. Well, Lovino supposed now he knew that Arthur had teleportation abilities as well. "Besides, every time he came to visit or every time you came to visit, you just get excited all by yourself, dammit. It makes it hard to say anything."

"Oh, _sì_, that is true, too, ve..." Feliciano muttered under his breath as he crossed his legs, hovering in mid-air. "So will you tell me now? I'll listen this time, I promise!"

"Just... don't freak out," Lovino pleaded weakly, grimacing at the aspect of having to divulge the truth to his little brother. It goes without saying that Feliciano had always been the more devout of the two of them even though he was the artist who accepted everything as it is. Feliciano was open-minded though, but Lovino questioned if his younger brother could accept Arthur's occupation as it is even after everything that's happened. "Arthur is... He's... Well... _Damn_." Okay, maybe this was harder than he had originally thought.

"Ve... Since he knows about magic, is he a magician? Like a witch?"

"He's not a _witch_, you idiot. There's a difference between a witch and a sorcerer. Witches and warlocks make deals with the Devil, and mages like sorcerers and enchantresses are just born with magic," Lovino explained automatically. He had that information drilled into him by the end of his first adventure with Arthur and the others. The older Italian grunted when he realised that they had wandered slightly off-topic. "That's not what I meant though, dammit. Arthur is... He's... He's a king."

"A king? Like of a country, ve? That's amazing!"

"Not quite, but yeah," Lovino mumbled as his eyes darted about the room, wondering how to explain this to his little brother. "He's not the king of a country. He's king of a realm. Do... Do you remember how you've learnt about Heaven and Hell and all of that?"

"Not really, ve! Why?"

"Well, Arthur is King of the Underworld," Lovino blurted out quickly, simply wanting to get this over and done. He dropped his eyes to the floor, fidgeting with the seams of his jacket. "He rules over daemons of the darkness—like vampires and werewolves and revenants—oh, which are like zombies—and familiars and succubi and incubi and other demons. Are you following—ah! Felici?" He tried calling to his brother, who appeared to be staring past Lovino at this point. "Feliciano? Hey! Are you even listening to me, dammit? I'm trying to tell you that Arthur isn't really human!"

Feliciano snapped back to reality and blurted out with distress prominent in his eyes, "_Fratello_, you're getting married to the _devil_?" They dared to glisten once more with white particles of light brimming at the edge like droplets of tears. "How _could_ you?! Are you abandoning—?"

"Feliciano!" Lovino snapped angrily as vengeance and bitterness and indignation built within his body. He would _not_ have anyone degrade his _angelo prezioso_, and that included his own brother. Arthur was _not_ a bad man, and he was _not_ evil. Moreover, Lovino had to make Feliciano understand this. "It's a long story, Feliciano, but will you listen to me? I didn't abandon anyone—not you, not _Nonno_, not our parents, and not even God, okay?" He raked his hand through his brown tresses as he scoured his mind for the right words. In the end, he simply rambled, attempting to convey his feelings, since he had never been the best at being honest about what he felt and thought, "I just fell in love, and I didn't fall in love with just anyone. I didn't fall in love with the wrong guy either, okay? Just hear me out, all right? Arthur isn't evil. He's not what people make him out to be. He's the Devil, but he's not cruel or sick or insane. He's not any of that. He's fair and good and kind. You _know_ him, for God's sake!

"How many times have you greeted him? How many times have you spoken with him? How long have you known him? We've been together for a little more than three years, right? We knew each other for more than that—longer, actually. Arthur and I—our history—goes back seven years—to the time of the uproar in _la Famiglia Divina_. Felici, he's the one who saved us. He's helped us all that time seven years ago.

"That tomato bastard and I were refugees, and he took his into his house and under his wing. He didn't force us to do anything. Actually, he didn't do a damn thing to us, and he listened to all of our requests. It was part of a deal he had with _Nonno—_yes, _Nonno_ knew him, too. Arthur only wanted to protect us. He _saved_ us, Feliciano! He helped us get you out of that damn prison, and he saved that bastard Valentino from committing any more sins! He helped us get your soul back, and he stopped his uncle from coming after us! Feliciano, you have to understand! Please, _please_ understand! He's not _Satan_!"

Feliciano shook his head as white particles rolled down his cheeks once again that day. "I don't understand, _Fratello_! What are you saying? Has everything we've learnt and has everything we've believed in all been lies?" the younger brunet cried. Again, the lights downstairs flickered, and Arthur's television immediately turned on, playing only white noise, as Feliciano grew hysteric. "I don't understand a thing! Seven years ago? What happened seven years ago? I don't remember anything from back then either! There were bad people, and then they disappeared! You're telling me that was Artù's doing? Then isn't he a bad guy, too? He killed them, didn't he? Isn't killing people bad?"

"Then would you suggest living under a rock and in the shadows for the rest of our lives?!" Lovino retorted.

"At least everyone would still be alive!"

"But would they be _happy_? The townspeople would be oppressed under that tyrannical rule, Feliciano! Merchants, farmers, artisans, women, _children_! All of them! Tell me that if every single one of those bastards were still alive that every single one of the civilians would be happy with them! Isn't it for the greater good?"

"What is good is God and His grace!" Feliciano countered. "You're marrying _the Devil_, Lovino! Don't _you_ understand that?"

"If I didn't understand anything, I wouldn't be here right now," Lovino muttered under his breath, "and I wouldn't be speaking to you like this. Feliciano, you would have been all alone after trying to save that damn cat. If it wasn't for Arthur, I couldn't even see you. I wouldn't even know you were stuck here in this form. I wouldn't even bother trying to save you because I wouldn't know a damn thing." He buried his face in his hands, attempting to hide his tears, as he grumbled, "I'd be a terrible brother, and I know I _am_ a terrible brother. I've hidden this from you for almost four years. I thought there would be a better way to tell you, but it's too damn late now... Shit. _Shit_."

"_Fratello_..." Feliciano murmured softly and weakly as he hovered away from Lovino, gliding towards the wall as he kept his gaze on the floor. "I'm... I need to think. I have to go." With that, Feliciano phased through the wall and soared away from Arthur's English manor. Lovino kept hiding his face, at a loss of what to say and what to do, only to flinch as he heard heavy footsteps pound down the stairs.

"I thought we were going to tell him together."

"Shut the fuck up. I _know _that, and I know I fucked up, too, dammit, you bastard. Either way, I think he would have had the same reaction. He's always been a little church boy."

Arthur collapsed on the sofa next to Lovino before lightly smacking the back of his lover's head with a heavy tome. "You're a silly little git, you know that, right?" the Briton remarked dryly before dropping the tome onto his lap. "Your brother may be distressed now, but he'll come back to you. That's the kind of person he is. He loves you and only wants the best for you. I can see why he'd be worried about you being the future Prince Consort to the King of the Underworld. It doesn't have the nicest of connotations."

"Like I give a damn about that," Lovino hissed, clenching his fists. "I'll prove all of those bastards wrong. You're not a bad person."

"Luv, you'd be battling with a plethora of generations of misconceptions and falsehoods," Arthur whispered tenderly as he wrapped an arm around Lovino's waist, pulling him closer. "I'm fine. It would be bad for my reputation if the Devil was some soft-hearted twat who makes impractical and impulsive decisions for his beautiful Italian spitfire. You don't have to prove anything to anyone. All that matters is that you're mine." Lovino angled his head slightly to catch a glimpse of Arthur's reddening cheeks before smiling to himself.

"Bastard," he grunted, pursing his lips together to hide that smile daring to creep onto his visage, "my _fratellino_ matters though. He's the only one I have."

"Of course," Arthur conceded, "that's why I'll help you bring him home."

"To Heaven? He only deserves the best, you know? That _idiota_ is a good kid."

"I know, spitfire. I know." Arthur pressed a kiss to his lover's temple. "I made a few calls. London will be a hunting ground for a while, and the entire Council is participating along with a few others. Your little brother will be protected while we're here. I'm sorry to have to do this before our big day."

"It's fine," Lovino assured shortly, leaning into the embrace. "You can't help it. It's important, right? Getting that phantom bastard back to Hell?" He stared into Arthur's eyes as they darkened considerably with an emotion he couldn't quite place. Again, there was a storm in those Aegean pools—one of guilt, one of remorse, and one of agony and misery and sorrow—torturing his lover's conscience. "Yao said that it was a black soul? I thought only your brothers and your aunt and cousins had black coloured life essence."

"It's rare for a human to have blue and white souls, yes," Arthur agreed, "but it's even rarer for there to be a black one amongst them. He was probably poisoned by some sort of miasma, some abnormality, which was part of the reason why everyone's so reluctant to extinguish him. Maybe they thought he could have been reborn as a demon, and maybe he thought he could have as well. That would explain—albeit only partially—why he escaped; he couldn't be reborn in Hell. Either way, a fugitive is a fugitive, and we can't have him out there on Earth. There's no other place for him to go."

"You... It sounds like you know him."

Arthur cracked a bitter smile and explained, "He was the first soul I've ever reaped." The blond stood onto his feet and tucked the heavy tome into a messenger bag. "I'll go find Feliciano. Kerberos should already be here, so it'll make things easier. Don't fret your pretty little head, all right, pet?"

Lovino rolled his eyes, biting his tongue, before speaking reluctantly, "Please bring him back safely, Arthur."

"Naturally," the Englishman concurred with a warm smile, "since there's no other option."

* * *

Vash Zwingli stepped out of the airport carrying only two bags—one for him and one for his sister—and an empty violin case. He was dressed in his usual army green jacket and his white beret and actually carried no other clothes with him, for he was a minimalist at heart and believed in saving all and any expenses. After all, their hosts would provide him, at the very least, with clothes if not Lili. His sister trailed after him, her delicate feet pattering against the pavement, as her green eyes marvelled at the new sights. She had never been to England before and felt brimming excitement at the chance to practice her English skills. Vash called for a taxicab as Lili admired her new surroundings with a soft smile on her lips.

"Lili!" her brother called out for her after he had finished hauling the luggage inside the back of the taxicab. He held the door leading to the back seat of the car open for her, and the petite blonde shuffled inside of the vehicle, sliding all the way down so that her brother had room to sit as well. Vash slipped into the taxi after her and gave instructions to one of the churches that would be housing them while he was hunting for his latest target.

_A black soul_... He recalled what the Church had told him. A _black_ soul had slipped past the Gates of Hell and was now lurking somewhere in England according to the abnormal readings of supernatural detectors. Honestly, Vash couldn't place his faith in these machines used to trace extrasensory phenomena, but they were his best bet since he couldn't even see ghosts or otherworldly creatures aside from those disguised as humans—werewolves and vampires and the like. He never got on too well with them either; he was ordered to execute them upon sight, after all. Nevertheless, he never actually did execute them unless he was witness to something terrible—werewolves ripping flesh, vampires draining blood—and although he would never admit it, a part of him understood them. Every creature—good or evil—needed sustenance to live. Frankly, he didn't care if anyone was good or evil though. He just needed to get along for his and Lili's sake.

At the church, the Father and Sisters received them with open arms, arranging for him and Lili beds in the same room. Vash merely tossed their luggage into the room—one that was plain and simple, bare of any furnishings save for those of their Lord and Saviour—before hauling his suitcase onto his bed. The blonde exorcist unlocked the locks of his luggage, unlatched the buckles, and unzipped before propping open the suitcase. He attempted, rather sluggishly and dishearteningly, to brush off Lili's glances of disapproval.

"_Bruder_, how many more innocent creatures must you kill? They are still creations of one almighty power," she insisted in German. "What if they meant no harm?"

"What if they did?" he retorted smoothly in the same tongue. "We know nothing, Lili. That is why we just need to do as we are told. We can only survive this way. You need to stop making friends with these phantoms of the darkness. Nothing good will come out of it. They can only harm you, Lili." He assembled his arms and placed a rifle within his empty violin case to remain discreet with extra silver bullets. In the pouches of the violin case, he placed a bottle of holy water, a spare cross and rosary with prayer beads, and several pieces of holy scriptures within a worn leather-bound bible. He zipped the violin case shut and slung it onto his back, telling Lili to remain put and never to wander out of the Sisters' sight. He slipped a knife into the pocket of his trousers and hid a pair of handguns in their holsters, covered by his long coat.

Lili watched after him as he left, closing the door behind him, and, although she knew she ought to listen to her brother, followed his example—wanting nothing more to explore her new surroundings. After all, the petite blonde wouldn't wander too far from the church, and she would return within an hour.

In the meanwhile, Vash was wandering down the streets of the City of London. The thick soles of his boots echoed against the stone pavement as his eyes nonchalantly studied his surroundings from the aged buildings to the modern structures. He wandered closely to a religious sculpture that had been fenced to protect the historic piece of art from horseplay and hid his irritation at being surrounded by a group of tourists. His green eyes studied the statue curiously, wondering what laid beyond its material form that unnerved him so, before someone remarked beside him, "It smells of gunpowder. How revolting."

Immediately, he whipped his head to glare at the stranger who had spoken, and his eyes landed on the form of an aristocrat of sorts. He was dressed finely in a designer suit with a pair of expensive frames that magnified his onyx eyes ever so slightly. His dark hair was neatly groomed, and there was even a beauty mark to accent his pale skin. Vash could feel his eyebrow twitch in irritation. Here was someone well-off financially, and it only reminded him of his own circumstances. He couldn't even afford a proper hotel for him and his sister to stay during his trip to England and instead had to rely on others. He hated being a dependant.

Nevertheless, a part of him wondered if this was the stranger who had made the earlier comment. What would a noble know of gunpowder and ammo? He hated being unnerved by this as well, and he hated being paranoid. A part of him wondered if this man was a vampire of sorts, given his elegant and sophisticated countenance, but Vash knew fairly well that those night-walkers could not tolerate daylight.

"Roderich!" a gentle feminine voice called out to someone within the crowd. Only a few people glanced her way as she approached the young elite. She tucked a few strands of brown hair with soft waves behind her ear as she beamed at the young man with nothing but admiration and respect. "Have you found anything?"

"Just an odd statue," Roderich explained to the young woman. She was dressed in a winter dress coloured a dark pink green underneath a wool coat with leggings and a pair of fur-lined brown boots. A pair of earmuffs covered her ears, and Vash was reminded that Christmas was fast-approaching as well. He needed to buy Lili a present. Just as soon as he was about to pull his gaze away from the couple, the young man spoke once more, "Elizaveta dear, don't you think that someone ought to send that spirit to Heaven?"

Her eyes darkened with pity. "Yes, there is no place for the dead in the Realm of the Living, after all. Poor girl," she mused glumly. "Exorcism never guarantees that she will move onto the afterlife or into her next life... If only there was something we can do for her."

"Yes," Roderich agreed shortly. Though instead of looking into her eyes, the brunet was staring into Vash's own, locking their stares together as though he was sending him a challenge. "If only there was a way we can save her. Bless her poor, pitiful soul." With that, he pulled Elizaveta away from the plaza and broke their silent contact. At the same time, the young woman only gave him a short glance, and Vash knew that he had been spotted and that Roderich was the man who had made the previous comment regarding his weapons.

_They know._

Vash quickly turned on his heel and attempted to follow them, but they were already gone from his sight. A feeling in his gut alerted him about Lili's well-being, so the blond immediately raced towards the church where they were staying. He hastily greeted the Father and the Sisters before he burst through the doors of the church. Sitting in one of church pews, Vash caught sight of his little sister's blonde hair and blue ribbon. A sigh of relief passed from his lips before he slowed his pace. He marched down the aisle, but Lili hadn't noticed his presence at all. It was only when he approached her that his heart stilled with fear. He froze in his tracks as he realised that she was giggling and speaking with someone he could not see.

"Lili!" he cried, breaking from his initial shock. He lurched forward and snatched her arm, pushing her behind him, as he snapped, "Is it another ghost?"

"B-_Bruder_!" she exclaimed from the surprise. Her heart pounded in her chest, startled, before grasping his arm. "It's fine, _Bruder_! He's a nice boy! He wouldn't hurt anyone!"

"He doesn't belong here!" Vash protested.

"You are correct," a cold voice stated from the doorway, speaking in proper Queen's English, enunciating each and every syllable crystal clearly in order to guarantee that he had been understood. "He is a lost soul, and he does not belong here on Earth. However, it is my responsibility to oversee his passing. I will send him to Heaven myself. If you will, stand back and step away from him."

Vash turned his attention to the door and found a young man of average height and mousy blond hair, unruly and dishevelled, standing at the threshold as though he didn't dare to enter the church. He wore a black button shirt buttoned loosely underneath a dark winter trench coat with a pair of slacks and black combat boots that laced all the way to his knees. His ears were pierced numerous times, but the one earring that had stood out to Vash was the upside-down cross dangling from his ear. His emerald eyes were sharpened and narrowed in a piercing, menacing glare that could have possibly lacerated flesh and carved wounds, and Vash simply knew that this devil in front of him was more dangerous than the ghost with which his sister had spoken.

"Who are you?" Vash demanded of the newcomer.

"I could ask the same about you, but, frankly, I am not at all interested," the stranger retorted, crossing his arms. His green eyes strayed to the side, and Vash took that split second to grab one of his handguns and firing a bullet to graze the side of his face as a warning shot. However, before the bullet could even penetrate anything, it froze in mid-air just as it nearly carved through the man's flesh. He arched an eyebrow, plucking the bullet from its position, and hurled it towards Vash. However, instead of striking the younger male, the bullet pierced through the wooden surface of the church pew. "It is not quite proper to be battling in the House of God, is it now? I would advise you stop for innumerable reasons, Mr Exorcist. It is not wise to pick a fight with me of all people." His eyes once again strayed to the side, and Vash realised then that he was staring at the ghost that had contact with his sister. "Feliciano," he addressed the phantom, "your brother is worried. Let's go home. We have some guests who would like to speak with you."

Vash thought he heard someone whisper weakly.

"Yes, guests," the blond at the threshold of the church confirmed to the invisible entity. "They're your friends, Feliciano, and so I am. I assure you that no harm will be done to you." He smiled amiably, both surprising and irritating Vash with his change in demeanour. It was as though the exorcist's presence was microscopic, minuscule, and entirely insignificant—like he was only an insect that could easily be brushed off someone's shoulder. "Come along, Feliciano."

He waited a few seconds before turning on his heel and nearly closing the door behind him until Vash spoke, calling him out, "Magician! What was your purpose in coming here?"

"I only came to fetch my brother-in-law," the magician answered vaguely. "Rest assured, I want nothing to do with you, good sir. May you and your sister have a good day."

Vash grounded his teeth, displeased with his answer, and grasped the door. However, he froze immediately when he noticed the charred wooden surface from where the older man had opened and touched the door. A flood of dread filled him before completely overflowing with terror and mortification.

_He's a demon_.

* * *

**A/N: **I took the liberty to adding new characters into this story. Vash just seems suitable for the role of an exorcist who believes himself more like a mercenary for hire. It felt more comfortable than making up another OC to fill the slot. Older characters will make short appearances or cameos since this story is more central to Arthur, Lovino, and their family.

_Sympathy for the Bridegroom _also takes place in December whereas _Sympathy for the Devil_ occurred in the summer. The funny thing is that _Bridegroom _was written during late-spring and early summer whilst _Devil_ was written during winter. The setting simply suits it more though; you can even think of the seasonal setting as a sort of symbolism.

At any rate, thank you to all of those who have reviewed, followed, or added this story to their favourites already! I'm not comfortable writing a sequel, so please bear with me if the posting is _extremely_ irregular!


	3. Chapter 2

**II: Hunting Party**

"It seems that you've made a new friend," Arthur commented, nonchalantly shoving his hands into the pockets of his trench coat, as he and Feliciano returned back to the manor.

Nevertheless, the younger Vargas wasn't quite on speaking terms with him, a little bit more fearful of Arthur's abilities and capabilities now that he has seen what Arthur was capable of doing, and, honestly, he was still rather depressed. Feliciano had never considered how other people—_normal_ people—might have viewed him until Lili's brother had threatened to exorcise him. Certainly, he might have been a threat to their lives, but Feliciano didn't know if he was or wasn't. He didn't know much; no, actually, he didn't know anything at all—except for the fact that Arthur was his brother's fiancé and that Lovino trusted him with his life.

"She's cute," Arthur continued speaking regardless of Feliciano's sulking countenance.

This, of course, managed to lighten Feliciano's mood some. It was no secret that the Vargas brothers were notorious flirts and smooth-talkers, and beautiful women were certainly something the two brothers appreciated. Lovino's suave words had never failed to amuse Arthur—especially since his little spitfire was always rendered speechless in the privacy of their bed chambers. Feliciano didn't need to know that though, so Arthur kept his lips sealed as the Italian phantom rambled about his newest friend. "Isn't she? Ve, she's very nice, too!" the brunet beamed before his smile faltered some with a sudden realisation. "Artù... Are you really the devil? You're... You're quite nice, too, aren't you? You protected me from being exorcised by her brother, ve..."

"That is what humans call me," Arthur responded softly, dropping his voice to a whisper. He muttered some incantations, bewildering Feliciano, before picking up his usual volume. The blond directed an amicable smile, polite and courteous, towards Feliciano. "Now nobody can hear us. We can speak about whatever we want. To answer your question, my real title is King Arthur Pendragon Kirkland of the Underworld. I am the third son of Hades, and my family forms the Demon Court. My brothers as well as my aunt and my cousins make up the Seven Princes of the Underworld."

"So you _are_ a demon," Feliciano confirmed with a trembling voice, "and demons are bad..."

"I suppose you can call me a demon," Arthur mused aloud. "However, it is much too presumptuous and, blatantly put, superficial to say that demons are _bad_. That's barely scratching the surface. We're simply complex. Some demons, though admittedly not a lot, have good intentions while others have bad intentions just like the other daemons. Demons need to get along just as other species in life. Think of humankind in general. Are people good or bad? There are both 'good' people and 'bad' people, depending on perspective, of curse, and then there is also a blend of both, aren't there? Life is not just black and white. To some people, it is monochromatic; to others, it is technicolor."

"Ve..." Feliciano considered this and found it reasonable. "So what are daemons? Are they a different kind of demon?"

"Not quite," Arthur corrected. "They are supernatural existences such as demons and angels, vampires and werewolves, succubi and incubi, and revenants. The Celestial Realm, the Dark Realm, and the Underground are considered the Otherside of the Surface World, otherwise called the human realm or the Realm of the Living, and we belong to that Otherside. That also includes you now, Feliciano, and your brother."

Feliciano sighed at the overload of information. "_Fratello_ is the happiest when he is with you, Artù. I want to think that marrying you is good for him, but all of this sounds so dangerous," the brunet confessed honestly, deciding to confide in the man he had known for three years even if he had only just learnt of his true identity. After all, Arthur would always be Arthur, right?

"It might be dangerous, and it might always be dangerous," Arthur agreed. "Still, I'll protect Lovino. I won't ever let him go. What other purpose is there to my strength?"

Upon arriving at the manor, Feliciano waited politely for Arthur to open the door instead of simply phasing through the walls. Arthur merely chanted a simple spell under his breath without so much moving his hands. After the door burst opened, Feliciano's eyes widened in shock upon sighting his old friends, and the brunet instantaneously soared through the air to tackle Ludwig in a hug. However, he phased right through the tall blond and tumbled on the floor. Roaring laughter pierced the air, and Feliciano grinned sheepishly at Gilbert's cackling form as the albino clutched his stomach with pure amusement. Elizaveta smiled fondly at Feliciano while Roderich only gave him a nod of acknowledgement.

"Ve, everyone can see me?" Feliciano chimed in an innocent question. He turned to face his brother, who was sitting on the sofa.

Lovino arched an eyebrow and remarked, "What? No 'hi,' you damn idiot?"

"_Fratello_, I'm really sorry! I won't say mean things about Artù ever again!"

Lovino's cheeks glowed with a coat of pink, and he immediately averted his eyes so to avoid confrontation, grumbling, "Shut up, you moron," as his brother giggled childishly. Arthur chuckled at the sight of the two brother reconciling as a tender warmth filled him. He thought of his own brothers before shaking his head clear of the thought. Alistair would have rather maimed him in this sort of situation, and Owain could easily sleep off any situation while Seamus and Peter would pout at every little thing before begrudgingly apologising or simply forgetting. They were a slightly dysfunctional family, after all.

Arthur excused himself briefly to take care of other matters and attempted to climb up the staircase normally without seeming as though he was in a hurry. He stripped himself of his trench coat and unrolled the sleeves of his black button shirt to cover his arms. He pulled on a pair of leather gloves to cover his hands, wincing at the cool touch of the leather fabric against the wounds on his left hand as he did so. He didn't have time to heal any of his injuries at the moment; he'll have to tend to them later—if he bothered remembering. After Arthur straightened himself, he returned to his guests in the living room, catching the others in the midst of a conversation.

"Feli-baby is a ghost now, huh?" Gilbert mused as he examined Feliciano's current state from the distance. His red eyes darkened with sympathy as he reclined in Arthur's armchair, stretching out his long legs and crossing them along with his arms as to hold himself together. A dark sensation swept over his mind. If only he could have fetched Feliciano from the Gates of Hell just as he had with Ludwig, then Feliciano would not be stuck in this lonely state of his. As a disembodied soul, only those with the Sight could see him, and the number of humans with that ability are extremely low. The number of humans with extrasensory perception was only slightly higher, and even then they could only sense his presence—most of the time, only barely.

"There was quite the lag between the time of death and the time of reappearance from what Our King has told us," Ludwig reminded from his place in the living room. Since there weren't enough seats with Gilbert in the armchair and Lovino, Elizaveta, and Roderich on the sofa, Ludwig opted to stand next to his older brother despite Kiku explaining that he or Arthur could easily conjure a spare couch from the attic. His blue eyes flashed over Feliciano before turning away, pained from merely looking, as a flood of shame and regret surged through his body. He spoke again, "Usually, the separation of the soul and body is simultaneous with the time of death. This really is a mystery."

"Indeed, why has Feliciano Vargas reappeared only recently and in this form?" Roderich queried aloud as he readjusted his glasses, pushing it back up the bridge of his nose, and glanced over the boy in question. "Has anyone tampered with the River Vitae or the Gates to the other realms?"

"Not at all," Elizaveta responded shortly. "We would have known if they did."

"Wait, wait, wait!" Feliciano cried from his spot on the floor. He crossed his legs and ended up hovering a few inches above the wooden panels. He tilted his head as though he could find the answer to whatever he was about to ask through a new perspective and blinked innocently. "Why can you see me, ve? Do all of you have the 'Sight'?"

"Well, we kind of have to have the Sight," Gilbert remarked dryly with a mirthful grin on his lips. "We're werewolves, after all. It'd be a pain in the _Arsch_ if we couldn't see other beings in the Otherside. It's like walking around blindfolded."

"_Really_?!" Feliciano awed. "Luddy, too?" Ludwig winced at the use of his pet name.

"Lutz, too!" Gilbert confirmed with a nod of his head, biting his tongue to refrain from spitting out a sarcastic remark. Feliciano didn't need any patronising at this moment—not that he would even recognise it.

A few knocks sounded on the door then, and Arthur moved to receive his latest guests. As soon as the door opened, Mathias sauntered into the manor followed by his clan members. Just as soon as Francis was about to enter the manor, Arthur hurriedly slammed the door shut to prevent the Frenchman's entry, but the older blond was quick to grasp the edge of the door and to prop his foot within the crack to keep open the door. Francis whimpered in pain at the force but then grunted with a wry smirk that could be seen through the sliver he managed to form, "_Mon ami, tu m'as invité, n'est-ce pas?_"

"Bloody frog!" Arthur hissed before reluctantly opening the door for Francis to enter his home. A part of him was relieved that he hadn't brought his entire house of succubi and incubi with him and instead brought only his three loyal subordinates—Marianne, Isabel, and Julchen, who was still clad in her new military gear after her latest promotion from lieutenant to captain.

At any rate, Arthur wasn't sure how many more guests he could entertain before he had to enlarge the size of his manor. He then noticed that Yao had been behind Francis and did not appear to be the slightest bit impressed at his king's behavioural conduct. Arthur rolled his eyes and opened his door wider to gesture to Yao to hurry his damn arse inside the house. He then motioned for Ivan and the closest members of his coven, who had accompanied Yao to Arthur's manor, to follow after the Chinese familiar. As soon as Vladimir passed by him, they exchanged subtle smiles as a form of acknowledgement and greeting between the two mages.

As soon as Arthur closed the door, locking it shut with not only the physical latches and bolts but also with a few charms and runes, he marched back into his living room. Kiku had brought forth another sofa while the members of Gilbert's pack, Mathias' clan, and Ivan's coven surrounded them. On the original couch, Lovino was sharing with Mathias while reserving a spot for Arthur. On the new one, Francis, Yao, and Ivan were seated there while Gilbert hadn't removed his arse from Arthur's armchair. Nevertheless, Arthur seated himself properly beside Lovino and refrained from behaving—as Yao would call it—indecently. Old prune, Arthur snorted as he gave the Chinese familiar a light glare that he hadn't noticed or simply chose to ignore.

Feliciano floated behind his brother and watched as Kiku and the children began to serve tea and small cakes and delicate biscuits for snacks. The children greeted everyone politely as they handed the Council members a saucer with a cup of tea before kissing Arthur and Lovino on the cheeks and running upstairs to resume their games. They didn't hand Feliciano a cup since he no longer had a physical body, and the young Italian man simply had to admit that a part of him felt lonely in that sense. It didn't seem that he had realised that he was unable to eat any of his beloved pasta in his current state since he wasn't throwing a fit; Arthur and Lovino would have him remain that oblivious for now.

"Have preparations for the hunt been completed?" Arthur inquired before he sipped his cup of Earl Grey with three sugars and a dash of tea. They had decided against serving alcohol knowing that, although human substances normally cannot affect their immortal bodies, their powers on the Surface World had been restricted, and, thereby, they cannot risk lowering their inhibitions even though Arthur could fancy a shot of rum to accompany his tea.

Yao nodded his head and informed, "The princes shall arrive tonight to aid in the search for the missing soul. The Duchess shall be overseeing the kingdom in your and their absence." At the last statement, he glanced at Lovino as though to chastise him since, as the King's consort, it was Lovino's duty in the first place to oversee the kingdom in the King's absence. The Italian merely narrowed his eyes at him in response. "She told me to notify you, Your Majesty, of a change in the order of the Demon Court and the Twenty-Four Knights. She has renounced her title as the Duchess of Vanity and as a knight, stating that she has tired of the position."

"In other words," Arthur concluded, "she has grown old and brittle, or she is too exhausted to travel betwixt dimensions. Well, the meaning is all the same, and it changes the consequences little."

"I will not deliver either message to her, Your Majesty," Yao remarked shortly with a subtle frown on his lips. It clear that he valued his head and would not risk it being removed from the rest of his body since a familiar could not reattach any limbs like a revenant could. "At any rate, she will send her successor to the meeting later tonight. Additionally, in regards to the subject of this meeting, the readings of life energy have confirmed that the fugitive is within the vicinity of London."

"We will spread across the city accordingly," Gilbert spoke up as Ludwig stepped forward to lay a map of London across the coffee table next to the three-tiered serving tower. "The Revenant Clan shall take to the north while Kerberos occupies the west. The Vampire Coven will take charge of the search in the east, and the House of Incubi and Succubi will search in the south. We will leave the centre to the Seven Princes, where the highest possibilities of him lurking are. Communication shall be done through mirrors and reflective surfaces, and everyone is to report to the King upon any new discovery."

"Lukas of the Revenant Clan and Vladimir of the Vampire Coven are to set up a barrier around London together with my brother Owain and me," Arthur announced, "after my family has arrived. After the barrier is raised, no beings from the Otherside shall be able to enter or exit London. Yao, please inform all other daemons and magical beings of this decision after this meeting. Travel must be done through the Gate or by teleportation, both of which exhaust a considerable amount of strength and energy. I advise you, my lords, to bid the remainder of your men to hurry if they have not yet arrived in London." There was a unanimous nod of heads before an unsettling silence thickened the atmosphere.

"This is a sly spirited creature, isn't he?" Mathias deducted, voicing the thought they all feared and dismissed as improbable, as he leaned forward in his seat and propped his elbows against his knees. His eyes locked together with Arthur to confirm his suspicions before he nodded his head once more and reclined back in his seat. "Since it's a black soul, we cannot be too careful. He ought to be honoured—what with having all of King Arthur's Twenty-Four Knights of the Underworld after his ass. It's a bit shameful on our part."

"It cannot be helped," Francis concurred with a slight inclination of his head in a subtle nod. Unlike his usual boastful and haughty nature, he was quiet and solemn as he spoke. "We are speaking of the man who has caused _la mort d'Arthur _many centuries ago."

"_What_?" Lovino blurted out incredulously as he stared at Francis wide-eyed, assuming that "_la mort_" meant the same thing in Italian. The Frenchman merely shrugged, angling his head towards Arthur, and when Lovino turned to face his lover, the Englishman kept his eyes trained on the map, his visage empty of all emotion. Lovino knew that, when he was like this, Arthur was only trying to hide his inner thoughts and feelings. The Demon King obviously did not want to speak about it here right now, so Lovino forced himself to keep his lips sealed and bit his tongue to prevent himself from uttering another word. They could speak later that night when it was only the two of them. Grimacing, Lovino gestured for the other daemons to continue discussing whatever the hell they needed to discuss.

"There is not much more to be discussing, _da_?" Ivan concluded as he glanced around the room with his soft lavender eyes, which were slightly cloudy with an eeriness Lovino could not fathom. "All that is left is to be setting up our headquarters. I will be claiming Borough of Havering, _da_?"

"_D'accord_," Francis agreed before he pointed a finger to the southern most point of map of London. "Then I shall take Croydon for my _base d'opérations_. What of you, Gilbert, Mathias? I am assuming Hillingdon and Enfield?" The two addressed Lords nodded their heads in agreement.

"Kerberos will be located within Hillingdon for the most part," Gilbert informed shortly, "but we will have smaller packs dispersed throughout the west. We plan on setting a route to travel so not to lose time or efficiency."

"Ah, _je comprends_," Francis responded with a nod of his head. "_C'est une bonne idée! _As for me, I was thinking of implementing my girls as spies within dance bars and nightclubs and having my men act as shadows and hunters. Both groups will report on a regular basis to me. _Et vous,_ Mathias, Ivan?"

"We have Lukas and Vladimir," Mathias explained, gesturing to the two mages to which he had referred. "They're exceptional magicians, so we're planning to use tracking and sensory magic to hunt him down. It's old fashioned, but it works."

Lovino glanced once more at the Chinese familiar, who was sitting coolly and collectedly the entire meeting. "What I don't understand is," the Italian mentioned as he inclined his head towards the oriental man in question, "why _he's_ here."

Yao arched an eyebrow before remarking, "Your Highness, have you forgotten? I am your tutor in all royal duties. Since there would be no way in or out of London during this soul hunt, I am to stay with you to oversee your lessons."

Heat immediately surged to Lovino's cheeks from embarrassment, shame, and pure, seething anger. The brunet immediately turned to his fiancé, demanding to know why he wasn't told of any of this, but Arthur merely hid his face within his teacup. The rising steam did not help at all with the warmth coating his cheeks, matching the hue of his consort to-be, but he dare did not speak while Lovino was still pissed off. Honestly, Arthur hadn't known either that was the reason why Yao was here. He had assumed that the Chinese familiar only wanted to aid with the hunt since the elder didn't say much on the topic of his presence, and he couldn't tell Lovino that right there and then. He simply knew that his Italian spitfire wouldn't accept that kind of answer.

Yao only watched, unamused, before taking Arthur's opportunity to speak for himself, stating coldly, "Your Highness, it is unsightly for the King's Consort to be shouting. Likewise, it is unbecoming of the Prince Consort to have a short temper, to throw tantrums, and to curse. Please compose yourself." Judging by the tone of his voice, that was not a request; it was an order.

As Lovino's jaw tightened and as his teeth clenched to keep from spitting out profanity, Arthur retorted in his lover's place, defending him, "Before Lovino is my consort as a king, he is my lover. I will not tolerate you speaking ill of him, Yao. It is best if you remember that he is technically in a position higher than yours. At any rate, we daemons of the Underworld are all crude creatures best defined as monsters by humans. It matters little if our precious queen curses or throws tantrums." He smiled amusedly, hiding it behind the rim of his teacup. He sipped the rest of his Earl Grey and then remarked, "Rather, I believe it is more appropriate for us to have a strong-spirited prince consort."

"Your 'queen,'" Yao reminded, "cannot ballroom dance, cannot give public speeches, has no experience in politics—never mind _Otherside_ politics—and knows very little of the other realms, including magic, hierarchical structures, and history. Spirit is not the only qualification for the King's Consort, Your Majesty. I hope you do understand that, as it stands, your lover is still very much ignorant in his duties."

"Then I suppose you ought to teach him what he needs to _know_, Yao," Arthur snapped, "but you will _not_ tell him how to act or behave. I trust him in that respect. He _can_ read the mood—unlike some other people."

The room fell silent as the children on the upper floor squealed with glee and delight. Their tiny footsteps pounded across the ceiling, and Feliciano at that moment really did not want anything more than to fly through the walls separating the two parties to join the children in their playtime. He didn't understand much of what was being discussed, only that it was important, and was only bobbing his head occasionally to pretend that he was listening to the conversation. This was one of those moments. He was entirely oblivious to the pitiful glances thrown his way and the fact that the meeting had been adjourned.

"Your Highness," Yao addressed Lovino sternly. The Italian only spared him a half-second before standing onto his feet and nearly retreating into the kitchen to prepare dinner. "It is time to begin your lessons regarding the history of the Otherside—_Your Highness_?!" Yao scowled as he realised that Lovino was digging through the cabinets for several pots and pans. "Your Highness, it is not the duty of the Consort either to cook or to prepare meals for the guests! That is the duty of the servants—cooks and maids and butlers and such! Leave it to Kiku!"

"You're telling me that I can't do what the hell I _want_ to do?" Lovino hissed, ignoring Yao wholeheartedly, as he dropped a pot into the sink and filled it to the brim with water. He fluidly moved the pot to the stove and set it onto the highest setting for the noodles to boil. Then Lovino removed the fettuccine noodles he had prepared earlier from the fridge to slide into the water after a few minutes. "Look, _bastardo_, I know you have some kind of problem with me, but get the fuck over it! I plan on m-ma-marrying Arthur, and there's nothing you can do about it!"

Yao huffed indignantly as he crossed his arms at the threshold of the kitchen, not daring to cross into what was obviously Lovino's territory. Arthur's formerly lifeless kitchen was now filled with utensils their king did not even know how to use aside from the most basic of objects. There was even an espresso machine and coffee maker that Yao honestly doubted Arthur even used. He glanced over the shelves and the cabinets and the cupboards, finding a new item almost everywhere, from spices to ingredients to actual food.

"There may not be anything I can do about it," Yao agreed, "for the good of the kingdom. It goes without saying that you've bettered the King, but I cannot say anything about the Underworld. For the sake of politics, there are many and much better candidates other than yourself; however, the King has chosen you. That is why I will educate you to the best of my abilities. You may keep cooking, My Lord, but I will speak about the beginning of time as you do. How does that fare with you?"

"Do whatever the fuck you want," Lovino grunted. "I don't give a damn, you anal-retentive bastard. It's only background noise anyway. If you think you can cover a story that starts with the beginning of time while I'm cooking, especially when you think I'll be _listening_, then be my guest, dammit. _Buona fortuna, bastardo_!"

Yao smirked deviously and remarked in an offhanded manner (though his behaviour was anything _but_ offhanded!), "Even if it involves your beloved Arthur?"

Lovino momentarily froze, debating with himself, before spitting out, "L-Like I care about his damn past! I don't care about that shit at all! W-What matters is the present! It's... What do they call it? Ah, _sì—il dono—_the gift!"

"Oh, what a shame," Yao droned, obviously not deterred by the Italian's exclamations, "but I'll talk anyway. It's my job, after all. Listen if you want, but just don't say anything stupid at your wedding reception, especially if you want to incorporate history into your speech, okay?" The oriental dragon took pride the moment he noticed Lovino grounding his teeth, trying not to lash out at him, but still did not understand why his king would even bother choosing such a brat to be his bride.

Inhaling deeply, the Chinese elder recounted the story of the Underworld, a vaguely familiar tale to Lovino's ears, as Feliciano hovered outside, listening to the narrative while mournfully realising that he could no longer smell Lovino's cooking. Keeping his crimson and amber eyes trained on the floor, he contemplated the reason why he was still here in this realm and what purpose God had ordained for him as Yao spoke of the descent of the first angel soldiers from the Heavens to the Underworld and the daemons' purpose of guiding humans and enriching their lives. Feliciano didn't pay much attention; he couldn't have cared less about those details. He was more concerned about the matter of his death, wondering how he could enjoy life if he was no longer welcome in the Realm of the Living.

"Why am I still here, ve?" he muttered aloud.

"Isn't because you have something left to do before you died?"

A pair of black combat boots entered Feliciano's line of sight, and the Italian phantom raised his eyes to meet with Arthur's encouraging smile. More and more, Feliciano was starting to see him as an ideal brother. Perhaps therein laid the charm that had captivated Lovino, the younger brother wondered to himself. Breaking away from his thoughts, the brunet brought himself to smile at Arthur and ask him what he was doing.

"Well," the blond remarked sardonically, "it's my ruddy house. I can't be here?" Feliciano's eyes widened at the retort, and he attempted to defend himself and his words until the Englishman gave a short chortle. Rubbing the back of his neck with his right hand, Arthur asked Feliciano, "What a shit day, huh? You've discovered that you're dead, and you almost got bloody exorcised. Your existence would have been erased, and nobody could guarantee if your soul would still survive after the ritual was completed—not even the blokes up in the Heavens."

Feliciano frowned at that aspect, sighing a long and half-hearted, "Ve..." He glanced at his brother and saw that the noodles had finished boiling at this point. The sauce was almost done as well. Only a few weeks ago, Feliciano would have easily sniffed out which stage in cooking Lovino would have completed. Now he had practically lost all of his senses except for hearing and sight. "Artù," he addressed his future brother-in-law. When the blond focused all of his attention on Feliciano, the brunet struck up his inquiry, "Could you tell me more about exorcism, ve? How come nobody would know what would happen to my soul?"

Arthur exhaled as though blowing out the exhaust of a cigarette, taking his time to contemplate his answer and to word it in the most comprehensive form for Feliciano's sake. "Well," he began slowly, "a forced removal is never good. In the first place, most souls are stuck on Earth as ghosts precisely because of an attachment. Do you understand?"

"_S-Sì_!" Feliciano chirped somewhat uncertainly.

The Demon King only raised a thick eyebrow but did not press the boy. Instead, he took it upon himself to elaborate and clarify any hazy details for the Italian phantom. "When people die, their souls immediately return to the River Vitae—that's the River of Life, for your information—to head to their next destination—Heaven, Hell, or rebirth. However, some souls have lingering attachments so strong that they are unable to return to the River—like a place they can't leave or a task they must fulfil—and to break them from that by force can have horrible consequences. It's like forcing a child to do something or go somewhere he doesn't want to do or go; you never know what's going to happen," Arthur explained. He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall opposite Feliciano. "It doesn't seem like the first case pertains to you since you're here in London instead of Rome. Do you have anything you want to do?"

"Ve! Right now, I want to eat pasta!"

Arthur quickly responded in a deadpan, "Sorry, Feliciano, but I don't believe that is possible."

"Ve..."

"Besides," the Englishman swiftly amended his harsh behaviour by softening the blow, "it's usually something more meaningful... Is there something you absolutely have to do _at all cost_?"

"I... I don't know."

The blond sighed, raking his right hand through his already unruly locks, and replied, "That can't be helped, after all. We can't just push this on you; it doesn't work that way. Don't worry. I'm sure you'll find the answer yourself since, well, it's... a natural thing. You just feel it—sense it. Nobody else knows you better than yourself, right?"

Feliciano smiled warmly at the blond. "_Grazie_, Artù, for trying to help me, ve," the younger Vargas returned politely. "I'm... I'm really happy _Fratello_ wants to marry you. You're a good man. You're really nice, Artù."

"I'm not quite sure if that's a compliment," Arthur remarked dryly, "seeing that I'm the Devil and all."

With that comment, Feliciano giggled before hovering over Arthur and flipping in mid-air, settling behind the blond a few paces. The brunet inclined his head towards the living room, saying that he would speak with Ludwig since they haven't spoken at all in a while—Feliciano being a corpse and all. Arthur grinned lightly and flicked his wrist in a gesture to dismiss the Italian phantom. Feliciano glided down the hall, greeting Gilbert and Mathias along the way, as the Head Alpha and Chief marched towards the Demon King. They stood in front of Arthur with solemn expressions unmasked by the earlier pleasantries with which they had greeted Feliciano.

"What's the story behind Feliciano?" the albino werewolf inquired quietly. His red eyes glanced in Feliciano's direction, but the spectre was already long gone. "Do you know?"

"Not at all," Arthur answered brusquely. "I was as surprised as you gits are. It doesn't seem like Feliciano has the slightest clue as to why he might be here either."

"It's always difficult for a ghost to remain in the Surface World," Mathias commented with patent concern for his little friend in his blue eyes. "I wonder if there's anything we can do to help, but I get the feeling that, if there was, then you would have thought of it already."

Arthur sighed and shrugged. "Lost souls are always tricky to deal with," the smaller blond responded. "I mean, look at how far I've gotten with my children. They're guardian spirits now instead of being lost souls, but it's not that different of a situation. They've simply gained a physical form, a mere shell to fill, and I doubt that Lovino would want me to do that for Feliciano. If his brother has died—no, _because_ his brother has died—Lovino has confided to me that he wants nothing more than Feliciano's peace."

"Now the question is 'what is Feliciano's peace?'" Gilbert concluded. "That peace can ultimately grant him access back to the River Vitae, but if he doesn't know that peace, then we can't help him."

"All I understand is that Feliciano wants Lovino to be happy, but Lovino wants Feliciano to be at peace," Arthur deducted. "However, Feliciano cannot be at peace without Lovino's happiness."

"It's become a troublesome situation again," Mathias mused. "It's going to be a vicious cycle if there's no resolution."

"To make things worse, Feliciano and I have already encountered an exorcist," Arthur mentioned. "I had to haul my bloody arse instead a _church_ to save him from getting exorcised. It looks like that stroppy wanker is staying here in London with his sister for now as well. They seemed like foreigners; their accent sounded faintly German. I looked into their souls for a bit—Vash and Lili Zwingli—from Switzerland."

"You went _into a church_?!" Mathias and Gilbert chorused with the same quality of incredulity and disbelief, completely disregarding the little morsel of information their friend shared with them. Their exclamation resounded throughout the entire manor, and Francis and his girls along with Ivan and Yao immediately reported to the source of the sudden disturbance. Eventually, a crowd gathered to observe the spectacle with Feliciano hovering in the background and Lovino elbowing his way to his fiancé. "Arthur," Mathias exclaimed, "you do understand that even _you_ can get erased in a church, right? You're a _demon_, the fucking _demon king_, for the sake of Hades! What the hell makes you think that the Emperor of the Heavens wants you in his _holy_ house?"

Upon hearing those words, Lovino paled. He recalled Arthur telling him seven years ago about how the Englishman had feared entering the church and risking punishment by the Emperor of the Heavens. Why would the blond dare to venture into a church if he knew the consequences of what could happen? He clenched his jaw and grasped Arthur's right hand, forcing the blond to face him and his indignant expression. Lovino barked feverishly, "I thought we already had this kind of damn discussion, you dumb bastard! Why the hell are you putting your life at risk? I think it's already pretty fucking clear that you're not as invincible as you seem, dammit!" Tears threatened to stream from his eyes as the memory of Arthur's four year coma and his four year episode of amnesia haunted him, lacerating into his heart with shame and guilt and remorse and all other dark emotions he could not name. "Nobody wants to lose you a second time, you—you—you _idiota_! _Tu sei un fottuto stupido idiota! Che diavolo stai cercando di fare?!_" Lovino lost himself to his native tongue, spewing all of the shit he couldn't say in English, and Arthur smiled bitterly, understanding every single word whereas the others—except for Feliciano—could not.

"Ve... _Fratello_," Feliciano whimpered from behind Ludwig. His brother's weak and feeble voice snapped Lovino away from his inflamed fury, and the older Vargas brother halted in his tirade. "It's all my fault," the Italian phantom confessed sheepishly and shamefully. "I shouldn't have ran away. He tried to save me, _Fratello_. Don't get mad..."

"I _know_ he tried to save you!" Lovino hissed bitterly—unsure of whom he should direct his wrath—as he clenched his fists. "He's always trying to save _someone_! That's how he always gets into these fucking messes, dammit!" With that, he turned to Arthur and cried, "Why can't you _value yourself more_, you selfless bastard?!"

"Because there's someone else more important than me," Arthur responded coolly, fighting the blush he wanted to keep hidden mostly from the observers. It appeared that Francis and the succubi managed to learn of his embarrassment, however, as proven by the corners of their lips curling into sly smirks. Averting his gaze from Lovino's softening expression, a warm fluttering sensation burst within his stomach as he admitted, "I have other priorities—like you—a-an-and the children, of course."

"How adorable!" crooned a mocking voice from beyond the crowd of witnesses.

Immediately, the others parted to reveal all of Arthur's brothers as well as his two cousins. In place of a lithe red haired woman, however, there was a young girl around twelve years of age standing next to Peter. She had brown hair pulled into a curled side ponytail by a pink band adorned with a tropical flower. She wore a matching pink frock trimmed with white lace and donned a red scarf as well as a pair of flats the same shade as her scarf. Her brown eyes possessed the same haughtiness as Bridget, however, and Arthur was correct to assume that young Ms Kaelin would be replacing her mother as the Princess of Vanity and one of the Twenty-Four Knights. She glanced her surroundings discreetly, attempting to mask her curiosity, before noticing that her cousin the King had noticed her peeking at his belongings. She immediately halted her actions and straightened herself.

Alistair, who had first made their presence known, gestured towards her and confirmed Arthur's suspicions, "I'm sure that all of ye are familiar with Princess Kaelin. She will be taking the Duchess' place within the Demon Court as well as the Twenty-Four Knights." The redhead glanced around the room, his acidic green eyes jumping from person to person, before he commented once more, "It seems as though all Twenty-Four Knights of the Underworld are present."

"I suppose that means we ought to begin with preparations for the barrier," Owain suggested. The strawberry blond haired prince yawned widely, stretching his limbs, as he stepped forward to greet his brother. "I believe it's time to issue warnings about the London lock-down."

Arthur displayed with agreement with a curt nod before gesturing for Yao and Kiku to spread the word. The Asian familiars bowed obediently and then backed out of the scene. The King marched up the stairs and led his fellow mages to his Tower. Everyone else settled in the living room, waiting for further orders, while Lovino returned to his kitchen to occupy himself. Little did he notice that Francis had followed him into the kitchen to give him a helping hand. The Italian chef yelped when he finally noticed the incubus peering over his shoulder and promptly shoved him away. "What the hell are you doing here, perverted bastard?!" he instantly shrieked.

"Just trying to help," the Frenchman responded shortly. "I do a fair bit of cooking myself, you know? I cooked for you two on the night of Arthur's wedding proposal, remember?" He smiled, but instead of that lecherous grin, Francis was offering a weak upward turn of his lips. The Italian didn't comment on it any further; he only flushed with indignation and kept his lips sealed by pursing them together tightly. "I'm sorry you two haven't been able to plan your wedding properly in the past few years. Suddenly, the state of Hell has been—uh, how do you say—_acting up_. It's quite harsh on Arthur." He sighed, picked up a knife, and began slicing and dicing vegetables for the salad. "At this rate, I fear that you may be unable to marry Arthur any time soon. This is why I want to hurry and get this business with the escaped soul done. I truly wish to see him happy—the both of you, really—from the bottom of my heart."

"Why?" Lovino retorted. "I remember that you used to be weary of the two of us f-falling in l-l-lo—you know what the fuck I mean—almost everyone was. Is it because I'm immortal now? That makes it all okay? It kind of pisses me off if that's the case, you perverted bastard."

"Immortal or not," Francis returned, "it has been a long time since I have seen Arthur that happy—especially with someone else's company rather than a book. I'm grateful to you for that. Arthur and I have been acquainted for a long time now, and you don't know what he looked like when he first arrived to the Underworld. I hope you never do.."

An odd, awkward silence formed between the two that neither dared broach. Instead, they remained at their respective stations, either stirring sauces, preparing meats or vegetables, or plating food.

* * *

Four cloaked figures circled the pentacle drawn in white chalk within the dimly lit room. Three of the four figures were holding wax candles illuminated with an almost iridescent flame reflecting nearly every colour of the visible light spectrum. The fourth figure, however, held a tome in his right hand. His free hand traced the ancient words written in the aged papers as his lips moved in the form of incantations. The other three forms chanted a sort of mantra while they all channelled their energy into the pentagram, which glowed a deep vermilion before fading into the colours of a sunset imbued with orange hues, morphing into the dark golden yellow of an autumn harvest, dissipating into pure white, until the entire pentacle finally shone with an icy, misty blue like that of a glacier. The candlelight combusted momentarily before reigniting with a burst of blue flames.

The energy gathered within the pentacle instantaneously dispersed, spreading to the farthest corners and boundaries of London. What appeared to be a glass dome covered and shielded the metropolis in a colourful display reminiscent of the Northern Lights, reflecting the moon's light, before blending into the surroundings.

Snapping his tome shut with only a single hand, Arthur dropped the volume onto one of the mounds of books he had yet to organise. He pulled down his hood and crossed his arms with a short sigh. "Well," he mumbled, "that should be it. That little wanker ought to be trapped by now."

"Hm," Lukas mused as he dropped his own hood. The Norwegian mage leaned on top another stack of books as he contemplated aloud, "I get the feeling that is what he wants though."

"There's only one way to find out," Vladimir remarked, flinging his cloak off his body and tucking it underneath his arm. "We track him down, right? Anyway, I better report to Lord Braginsky. It's about time we go our separate ways, yeah? I'll see you guys around then! Knowing Braginsky, he'll want to start this hunt as soon as possible since it sounds 'fun.'" With that, Vladimir gave a short wave before stepping out of the Tower and climbing down the stairs to rejoin his coven. Lukas informed the two royals shortly that he ought to return to his clan as well and followed after Vladimir down the staircase and back into the living room.

Owain, in the meanwhile, merely yawned. He pulled his cloak closer to his body as though it was a blanket and told his brother, "I'm going to go take a nap in one of your rooms, Arthur. Don't wake me up until next... September sounds good."

"Like bloody hell you are!" Arthur snapped, pulling his older brother back into the Tower by the hood of his cloak. "Get back here, you lazy sod! There's still work to be done! We still have to determine how exactly we are going to pinpoint that bugger of a phantom with Alistair and the others! I also need a good grasp of Kaelin's abilities as well—!"

"Arthur," Owain addressed his brother firmly as he wrung the hood of his cloak free from the Englishman's grasp. His aquatic green eyes stared into Arthur's own pair of emeralds, and once Owain was convinced that he had the entirety of the blond's attention, he remarked, "You of all people should know that we don't even need to look for him. It's _you_ whom he's after, anyway. He'll come for you once everyone else leaves. Alistair has already figured out that all of this is a ruse to provoke him. You can drop the act."

Arthur grimaced and turned away in shame. "You're okay with this, Owain?" he asked quietly.

"Even if I wasn't," the strawberry blonde responded shortly, "it would end up with the same results anyway. You'll be targeted no matter what. I know that, and I understand that. Alistair does, too, along with Jett and James, and I'm sure even Seamus and Aunt Bridget—maybe even Kaelin—know as well. We're keeping it a secret from Peter since that little brat won't allow his brother to be a vengeful spirit's bait. I'll have you know that, normally, I wouldn't allow it either."

"Is that all? Who else knows?" Arthur inquired of his older brother, running a hand through his unruly blond hair in distress.

Owain sighed through his nose, flinging a lock of his tangled hair into the air for a brief moment, before he answered diligently, "Only your family, I believe. You're not going to tell the rest of your knights? Not even your pretty little fiancé?"

"In order to deceive your enemies," the Demon King muttered, "you must first deceive your allies. It is only for a little while. At any rate, with the Twenty-Four Knights, we should be able to defend London from any consequences of his actions. Until he reveals his intentions, I won't tell anyone. This is my problem, after all."

"It's not your fault, you know?" Owain remarked. "It's not something you have to do by yourself."

Arthur smiled wryly. "I've already let him pick the stage, and now I'm giving him the first move. It'll be dangerous from now on, and I can't risk anyone getting hurt because of some petty revenge story. At any rate, I'd rather not be comforted by _you_ of all people—especially about what I have to do," the blond retorted dryly.

His older brother only scoffed lightly and rolled his eyes. "I suppose so," he mused quietly. "I'm just the bloody Prince of Sloth. Not doing anything is my speciality." With that, the strawberry blond stepped out of the Tower, leaving Arthur alone with his books.

The Englishman glanced out of his window, staring into the distance, before pulling his gaze away from the dark sky. An uneasy feeling settled in the depths of his stomach, sending unsettling sensations up his spine, unnerving his mind, and stirring his entire being with dread. A shaky sigh escaped his lips as Arthur recalled one of Hamlet's verses, reciting it perfectly from sheer memory,

"_My fate cries out  
And makes each petty artery in this body  
As hardy as the Nemean lion's nerve.  
Still I am called._"

Pursing his lips together, the Demon King exhaled, "He's coming."

Hamlet's downfall, the Englishman mused, is for believing a ghost. Let me hope that my fate is not at all like his.

* * *

**A/N:** Arthur recited one of Hamlet's verses in Act One, Scene Four of Shakespeare's _Hamlet_ in which Hamlet first encounters the ghost of his late _father_ with Horatio and Marcellus. _Hamlet_ is one of my personal favourites of Shakespeare's works, and it sort of influenced this story as well.

Where Francis says "_la mort d'Arthur_," it is a slight allusion to the book by Sir Thomas Mallory, "_Le Morte d'Arthur_," which is a compilation of tales regarding the legendary King Arthur, Queen Guinevere, Lancelot, etc. What Francis says is grammatically correct French (to my understanding, ha) that translates to "the death of Arthur."

Kaelin Kirkland is the Principality of Wy. After surfing the Internet for ages, I found that I really liked this name among the others listed for Wy even though it also considered fem!New Zealand's name. Her appearance as Bridget's replacement is also rather critical for the story in terms of symbolism rather than plot development. If you happen to miss the Duchess, well, it's not like she's gone forever. She'll make her appearance... eventually.

Yes, Lovino is going to be a Prince Consort... eventually. I couldn't really call him a "queen" unless it was in jest since "Queen" is a title for a female. For instance, while Guinevere was King Arthur's queen consort, Lovino will be Arthur's prince consort. Reigning queens, when they wed, have prince consorts or king consorts. Since it would be a little confusing to have two kings, Lovino will currently be known as a prince consort to-be.


	4. Chapter 3

**III: Princess Lessons**

"Do you understand the principles now?" Yao inquired coldly as he narrowed his dark eyes at Lovino. Beside him, Kiku sighed, sympathising with the consort to-be, but maintained his professional posture. At the same time, the Italian rolled his eyes at the Scribe. Honestly, the elder was simply underestimating him at this point.

"It's just serving tea, right? I do that all the damn time with Arthur and Angelique," Lovino remarked dryly as he dropped Arthur's trademark three sugar cubes and a dash of milk into the steaming beverage that was presented to him. He stirred the liquid until all of the sugar had dissolved and all of the milk had blended into the tea, only to earn Yao's scorn. Upon hearing the displeased "Aiya!" Lovino raised his head and arched an eyebrow at the Chinese man. "What the hell is your problem? I'm doing it right, aren't I?" Lovino left the teaspoon as it was within the cup as he glared at Yao indignantly. "You're so picky, old bastard!"

Yao's eyebrow twitched at the mention of his old age. Nevertheless, he instructed Lovino diligently, "This isn't some silly tea party you play with children! Actually, I take that back! Children might know more than you do! When you stir, try to make as little noise as possible! Also, don't leave the spoon inside the cup! That's bad manners!"

"What the hell does it matter?" Lovino grumbled under his breath. "You're all old farts anyway. Why do you damn daemons have to impress each other if you already know that other person? You don't keep up formalities with the other people in the Council because you've known each other for a thousand years already."

Before Yao could explode at this insolent consort to-be, Kiku took to answering Lovino's questions, leaving the Chinese familiar to fume silently by himself. "Even if you are familiar with the guests, Lovino-sama, it is only polite to become familiar with customs as well," the Japanese fox spirit explained shortly. "You don't wish to embarrass His Majesty, do you? King Arthur has plenty of experience with dining etiquette and party manners from years of being a member of the aristocracy. It would be a shame to see his consort unable to converse properly with a Lord or Lady. That could potentially be subject to mockery; you understand that, correct, Lovino-sama?"

Lovino's cheeks took to flushing with embarrassment, but he did not respond to Kiku's ruse. He knew that the fox spirit was correct. The Japanese spirit also wished him well in—what the others liked to call—his "princess" lessons, but unlike Yao he truly wanted Lovino to succeed purely for the Italian's own sake. Although the Demon Court and the Council may have accepted Lovino for whom he was, the Dark Realm may be unforgiving towards a human who had impeded in their sacred domain. After all, a great number of the daemons of the Underworld viewed humans as their source of life energy, their food and sustenance on which to survive. It would be safer—and this everyone knew for certain—if Lovino learnt how to defend himself. That also included poise and etiquette. Earning the scorn of his future subjects could possibly be the downfall of a regnant, and nobody wanted that sort of end for Arthur.

"I get it," Lovino grumbled. "I get it already. I just..." His cheeks burned a deeper and brighter scarlet, the colour bordering a bloody and passionate crimson. "I just want to be useful to Arthur. I'm still a human, so I can't do much." The brunet bit his bottom lip to prevent himself from speaking any more.

It wasn't like he needed to say anything anyway, Lovino thought wryly. Anybody could see how mundane he was. While werewolves had heightened strength and speed, vampires had heightened senses, and succubi and incubi had heightened endurance and stamina. Demons and familiars, likewise, possessed a great affinity for magic, and even revenants were virtually indestructible since they couldn't decay. Compared to that, Lovino couldn't do anything. It would appear that anybody could be Arthur's sword and shield, his knight in times of both peace and war, but Lovino was simply _there_. He had no special talents, no special skills, not any one particular ability that stood out amongst the rest—aside from his cooking—of which Arthur could make use for his kingdom. He was just a human and only a human.

"You want His Majesty to rely on you more?" Kiku deducted. When Lovino didn't respond, he assumed that he had supposed correctly. The Japanese familiar only smiled and suggested, "Perhaps first we shall train you in manners, and maybe you can try your hand with some magic tools."

The last remark had caught Lovino off-guard, and the consort to-be found himself repeating Kiku's words in the midst of bewilderment, "Magic tools?" Shaking himself out of the surprise, Lovino furthered his inquiry, "What are those?"

"I believe His Majesty has used them a few occasions to conserve his own energy," Kiku responded shortly with a smile. "They are devices that draw life energy from their immediate surroundings rather than the user's body—such as runes or protection wards or charms. Exorcists or monks and priestesses normally use them to keep evil spirits at bay. Given our current circumstances, it may be of relative concern for you to learn how to use them, Lovino-sama."

"That's not a bad idea," Arthur mentioned from the threshold of the dining room. He smiled tenderly at Lovino briefly—only an expression reserved for his Italian lover—before turning his professional visage to his familiar servant. "I'm counting on you, Kiku—and I guess you, too, Yao." The Scribe tutted at his King's behaviour but said nothing more on the topic.

The Englishman marched into the room dressed in one of his business attires—a black blazer over a white button shirt with a loose black tie and a pair of black trousers, leather gloves, and Oxfords—and occupied the seat next to Lovino. He gingerly took the cooling cup of tea Lovino had prepared with three sugars and a dash of milk and sipped it delicately. The lukewarm liquid washed over his tongue before flowing down his throat, warming his being entirely, as he gave Lovino a discreet but affectionate smile. "Delicious," he whispered softly. Lovino smirked triumphantly at Yao even though the Scribe honestly had no idea why the little Italian brat was smiling. See! It didn't matter if he made noise when he stirred or if he left the spoon in there! At least Arthur still liked it, Lovino thought to himself, crossing his arms and leaning against the surface of the table as he found himself observing his British lover once more, and that was all that mattered. He ignored Yao's remarks about how he shouldn't have his elbows on the table.

"What are you doing today, bastard?" Lovino asked of the blond curiously. "You're all dressed up." Not that it didn't look good, the Italian thought to himself. With his devilish looks, Arthur could pass for a male model. Nevertheless, Lovino resolved not to compliment his lover—especially in front of his "tutors"—since it may only inflate Arthur's ego. A sarcastic _and_ egotistical lover was the last thing he needed; it would definitely be the death of him. "Everyone else is already searching for that ghost bastard, right?"

"Right," Arthur confirmed. "I'm just going on a little business trip to a local church."

Silence fell over the dining room as Arthur finished his cup of tea.

"A _church_?!" Yao exclaimed in disbelief. "Have you lost your mind?!"

"Not at all, I'm still perfectly sane, thank you very much," Arthur responded coolly, "and I'm taking Feliciano with me. If I remember correctly, Lovino said that he and his family used to attend church on Sunday mornings and Wednesday afternoons. I thought that if Feliciano returns to old routines, he might remember something about his task—that one last thing he has to do before he leaves." The Briton left his last statement open, hovering over their heads for further interpretation, but Lovino knew fairly well what Arthur meant. Lovino's fingers twitched, slightly indignant, as he yearned to reach for his lover and stop him from braving this nearly suicidal mission. Nobody knew what would happen to a demon if they tried to enter a church, after all, being fallen angels that they were. "Lovino?" Arthur whispered his name softly. "Is something the matter?"

Lovino scowled deeply, grimacing at the gentle voice Arthur had assumed, before spitting out viciously, "Value your life more, dammit! I've already told you yesterday!" Before Arthur could make any remark, Lovino grasped Arthur's left arm, and the blond hissed with pain in that very instant. Lovino's eyes widened with shock, and he immediately wrenched Arthur's left hand free of the leather glove, exposing burnt flesh for all to see. Lovino immediately paled, dropping Arthur's arm as though it would disintegrate in his hold, while backing away from his lover. Arthur's beautiful alabaster skin was burnt to a deep vermilion while verses of the Bible were seared and engraved into his flesh like hot iron.

"It looks like ye really did step into a church yesterday," remarked a dark and dry voice. Everyone's attention turned to Alistair, whose acidic green eyes bore into Arthur's shrinking form—now weak from all of the accusatory stares and condescending gazes. The blond resembled nothing more than a chastised child at this point, and Lovino's heart dropped to his stomach with guilt and shame. The Englishman kept his eyes trained on the floor, not wanting to look at anyone or anything, and attempted to remain strong. "What the bloody hell were ye thinking, Arthur?" When the blond didn't respond, Alistair roared, "Don't try to do everything by yourself, ye bampot! What the hell is the point of the Council? What about your Twenty-Four Knights then? We're here, so _use _us! We can help, Arthur! Don't be such a moron and try to handle everything yourself! Do ye think you're invincible? I might remind ye of what happened three years ago? Do ye think that ye can match with _Father_?"

"That thought has never even crossed my mind! Stop putting words in my mouth, Alistair, when you don't know a single bloody thing about what I'm trying to do!" Arthur finally shrieked in protest, glaring at his brother with nothing but rage in his visage.

"Oh, so ye think that I don't even know what you're up to—my own flesh and blood—my own we brother?!"

"I _know_ that you don't know because at this point you can only make assumptions about what's in _my_ head—not yours! I _know_ that because I haven't told you a damn thing about my thoughts and my—my—my bloody _feelings_! That aside, I _know_ that I can't possibly match with Father as I am right now! I'm not as much of a twit as you make me out to be, you arsehole! I'm only trying to do everything that I can possibly do in my power!"

"Well, entering a church of all ruddy places is _not_ one of the things within your damned power!" Alistair snapped. "Had it been a _normal_ burn caused by a _normal_ fire, then it would have already healed! By touching holy objects, it'll take ye a week or two to heal up—and that's _with_ expediting the recovery rate!"

"It may not be within my power, but it's definitely one of the things I _can_ do!" Arthur retorted. "I can't just stand aside and let my fiancé's brother be exorcised! Do you understand how devastated Lovino would be?"

"That brat is already dead!" Alistair exclaimed. "If his soul is erased, then what of it? Maybe ye are right; maybe I don't understand. What I do know is this: _you're_ the one who is still alive! _You're_ the one who could die! _You're_ the one whose existence could be _erased_!"

"Don't you talk like that—like Feliciano's not even here—like he's not even present—like he doesn't exist!" Arthur barked with anger and rage radiating from the very core of his being, rivalling that of his own brother who possessed the very title of the Prince of Wrath. "You know as goddamn well as I do that a soul is still very much a bloody existence, and you know that his existence still means a hell lot to others!" A part of him knew that this matter didn't pertain solely to neither him nor Feliciano's ghost now. The reason laid in the deep regresses of his mind, and he couldn't remember clearly what it was. Then again, at the moment, he wasn't thinking clearly either, so Arthur couldn't refrain himself from shouting, "I won't let the same thing that happened to Father happen to Feliciano and Lovino! Not again! I refuse!" Only once the words had escaped his lips, hurling out of his throat, had Arthur realised what he had just spat into his brother's face. Shame crossed his features, yet he did not relent. It was too late to retract those words—even if they were the truth.

An unnerving and uneasy silence fell over the two demon nobles in the dining room of Arthur's English manor. Nobody spoke at all. Yao had averted his eyes, and Kiku simply stood still—staring at a plain wall but not seeing anything at all—while Alistair and Arthur stood seething at one another. Lovino bit his tongue, unable to do anything about the situation. He knew little about Arthur's father—his biological father, the first and original Devil—whom he had succeeded in reigning the Dark Realm. The Italian was only aware that he had disappeared centuries ago without any explanation and that there had been an enormous crisis regarding the crown and throne. Arthur's coronation was rushed, and discontent and dissatisfaction was nigh until the blond finally managed to prove his worth as King Arthur Pendragon Kirkland.

Lovino wasn't sure what had made the Council believe that a neutral, blissfully ignorant party would be good for the sake of the realm. It especially made him feel all the more useless and worthless as a consort, but he still wanted to be with Arthur.

"Isn't that enough, Prince Alistair, King Arthur?" All heads turned to face the little demon princess who appeared no older than twelve years old. She propped her hands atop her hips and glared pointedly at her older cousins. "I may not understand the situation very well, but it does little to erase what has already happened. The past matters very little now, and it is best to think of our current circumstances. We have a threat looming over the City of London, yet here the two of you are arguing like children."

Alistair and Arthur exchanged a brief glance before pulling away their eyes sharply from one another as though it would damage their vision by gazing upon the other brother. The situation had defused some, but the two of them were clearly upset with the lack of the other's understanding. Kaelin rolled her brown eyes and sauntered into the kitchen, where Kiku diligently pulled out a chair for her to sit.

"At any rate, Your Majesty," Yao spoke up uncomfortably, coughing and clearing his throat, "I believe we should get someone to look at your wounds and to treat them. I shall go fetch Prince Owain." When the Chinese familiar made a move to exit the dining room, he passed by Lovino and gave the future consort a short and subtle inclination of his head, an action similar to that of a curt nod, as though to thank him for catching onto Arthur's odd behaviour. After all, Yao was but a servant familiar, and a servant had no place to be touching a royal. Lovino could defy such a boundary as he and the King were lovers; he was a special case, an exception to the rule, perhaps.

Defeated but reluctant, Arthur collapsed into the seat next to Lovino. His Italian lover raised his arm onto the table and forced the blond to keep his sleeves rolled all the way up to his elbows in order to examine the extent of the injuries. Lovino clicked his tongue in disdain and remarked, "You do some pretty stupid shit sometimes, you damn bastard." He pulled his eyes away from the burns, unable to stomach the sight of the scarlet flesh any longer, and locked his gaze together with Arthur. His stomach churned anxiously but not in respect to Arthur's wounds. Averting his eyes, he shyly grumbled, "But thanks... for saving my brother's sorry ass."

A gentle smile graced Arthur's lips, and just as they parted to reply to Lovino's gratitude, Owain stepped into the room still in his dressing gown and house slippers with a first aid kit in his arms. The strawberry blond yawned widely but did not bother to stretch, obviously planning to return to bed, while he shuffled lazily towards his younger brother. Upon sighting Arthur's burns, he tutted his tongue and shook his head in disapproval and disappointment. "I thought you would have known better than to get near a church," the Welshman remarked dryly as he seated himself next to Arthur and then pulled the chair forward, setting the first aid kit onto the surface of the table. A collection of light particles gathered around his hand, glowing the faintest hues of green and turquoise, before streams of the light danced into and out of Arthur's wounds like needlework. The vermilion colour faded into a pink coat marring Arthur's arm, and the seared words lightened some like washed ink. The glow surrounding Owain's hand dimmed just as the strawberry blond pulled his hand away from Arthur's limb. "That's all I can do right now. Alistair, do you want to bring out Amon to help—?"

The fiery redhead snorted and crossed his arms in front of his chest defensively. "_Me_? Ye want _me_ to summon Amon, _my_ familiar, to help this no-good, brainless twit of a king whose head is filled with nothing but _barmy_?" the Scotsman hissed venomously as he glowered at Arthur, who had noticeably stiffened. "Ye have _got_ to be joking! I'll only help this blasted little brat once he gets his priorities straightened!"

"You're not on speaking terms _again_?" another voice called from the threshold. Seamus strolled into the dining room casually with Peter lingering behind him. Arthur's five guardian spirits followed afterwards, demanding breakfast from Lovino, as the six total children seated themselves at the table with Kaelin, their newest friend. "I swear, the two of you are just as bloody mature as a pair of kindergärtners at recess." Arthur and Alistair narrowed their eyes at their younger brother, who merely shrugged at the attention. In truth, they knew he actually loved the fact that they were glaring at him; the Irish boy vied for acknowledgement and thrived on simply knowing that he was the centre of everyone's attention. "Anyway, I think I'll go check the perimeters. It's unlikely that little terrorist will do anything in broad daylight, but it wouldn't hurt. Alistair, come with me."

Alistair's thick brow noticeably twitched with blatant irritation. "_Ha_?" he huffed at the auburn haired boy. "Why the hell do I have to come with ye? Can't ye go alone? You'remore than three centuries old now!" Seamus only raised an eyebrow and inclined his head subtly towards Arthur, but the redhead caught onto his younger brother's implications and merely sighed. He grunted, "Fine! Let's get moving then!"

The Princes of Wrath and Envy marched out of the English manor, the former considerably more bitter and vehement than the latter, while the Prince of Sloth only patted Arthur's head and returned to his guest room after advising his younger brother to treat his wounds properly. Yao and Kiku bowed respectably towards the exiting princes before parting ways themselves. Yao decided to see Owain to his room while Kiku saw the Scotsman and Irish boy to the door. Lovino stood from his spot in the kitchen as the children chattered among themselves. Arthur abandoned his seat after greeting his five spirits and properly greeting his youngest cousin and brother, who wasn't quite as genteel as the king in return. Abandoning the first aid kit on the table, he then joined his Italian lover at the kitchen as Lovino prepared seven glasses of juice and a mug of espresso for breakfast.

"Cooking?" Arthur asked shortly and softly—almost shyly—as though he was hesitant in his approach. The Englishman stood directly behind Lovino, trapping the Italian between his body and the counter, as he placed a good morning's kiss on his fairly tanned nape, affectionate and reflective of his current storm of emotions.

"_Sì_," the Italian murmured just as curtly without turning his head to face his British lover. He wasn't as unforgiving towards the Briton's altruistic actions seeing that it had seriously gotten him harmed. Even with the healing magic Owain had worked onto the injuries, Alistair had warned that it would take maybe a week or two for them to recover fully. Lovino might have been grateful that Arthur managed to save his brother, but it didn't make these wounds okay at all—not in any way. "I still don't understand," Lovino whispered quietly as he began to slice fresh fruit to accompany the rolls of bread he had prepared. "Why didn't you simply heal yourself earlier, bastard?"

"If I did," Arthur responded, "then I would be expending energy to heal a wound, and afterwards, I would have to rest to regain the energy I spent. It would be a pointless cycle and a waste of time when I have work to do."

Lovino snorted before admonishing Arthur, "It's not a waste of time to heal and get better, _idiota_. You'd be easing everyone's minds. They all worry for you." Including me, Lovino added, but he didn't say it aloud. Instead, he continued preparing breakfast in a passing silence. "I don't understand why your brother sleeps so much either," Lovino mentioned offhandedly as he plated the bread and fruit onto seven dishes, spreading butter and jam onto the surface of the rolls expertly with a knife. "Daemons don't technically need sleep, correct?"

"Correct," Arthur confirmed, "since we thrive off life energy provided by the Surface World. It doesn't mean that we _can't_ though. Owain, my brother, well... He's lived far longer than I have, and when you live that long, you have a tendency to be... _bored_. There's no meaning to living any more, and there's nothing to do either. It's become more of a habit—simply to do _nothing at all_. You realise that he _is_ the Prince of Sloth."

"And another thing I don't understand," Lovino remarked softly, "is why you didn't even tell me we had guests. You don't trust me with your family?"

"It's not that!" Arthur protested immediately, recoiling from Lovino as though the Italian had struck him. An expression of horror crossed his visage. The Englishman hadn't even considered _that_ possibility! "Oh, no! Not that at all! It's the other way around, actually! I don't trust them _with you_! I've... I've promised you that I'd protect you, but my brothers... They're quite strong—at least Alistair and Owain are—almost as strong as... as Patrick. The three oldest sons of the Demon Court—Alistair, Owain, and I—are known to be rivals. That means they are just as strong as I am, and I am just as strong as they are."

Lovino couldn't stop himself from cracking a smile. "You worry too damn much, bastard," he retorted, shoving two plates into Arthur's hands as he handled two others. Together, the two of them served the children their breakfast, each and every one of them thanking Lovino and Arthur politely, before they reclined against the kitchen counter, watching the children eat with a faraway expression in their eyes. "You'll protect me, won't you? In return, I'll support you. That's the kind of contract we have," Lovino recalled as he retrieved the first aid kit from the table. His free hand brushed over the spot directly above his heart. There, a pentacle was engraved, binding him to Arthur closer than the ring on his finger ever could. "Of course, that only works if you're still here with me, dammit."

Arthur reached for Lovino's hand, lacing their fingers together, and grasped it tightly, squeezing it within his hold. "I won't ever leave you," the Englishman promised. "I've made that mistake before—and never again."

"Which is why I'm coming with you and Felici to that church," Lovino remarked dryly as he pulled the Englishman into the living room in order to treat his wounds away from the children. He grinned wryly at the surprise that came over Arthur's visage. "What? You said that it would better for Feliciano to return to his old routines in order to discover what he needs to do, _sì_? That means I need to get involved, too," the Italian explained bluntly with a casual shrug of his shoulders. He was oblivious to the fact that his grin had widened, becoming more cheeky, as he remarked, "This is at least one thing I can do that you can't—walking into a church. For a tough bastard, that's kind of pathetic."

Arthur rolled his eyes and retorted, "I can't help that now, can I?" Fiddling with his hands, the Briton couldn't refrain from commenting, "More than sixteen thousand years ago, I could enter a church perfectly fine... But I suppose it was because I had considered myself human then—when I had ruled Britannia." Lovino reached for the blond's hands, holding them within his own, unable to decipher Arthur's thoughts at that moment. He could, however, see the turmoil in those emeralds, and the mere sight of that distress churned Lovino's own stomach with apprehension as well. Nonetheless, he diligently reached into the medical set and began to apply an herbal ointment onto Arthur's wounds as the blond instructed him, acting as a guide through the procedures.

"Hey," the brunet called softly once he managed to bind Arthur's arm within a white gauze, "it'll be all right." He began to pack up the first aid kit neatly, leaving his words hanging in the air. Biting his lower lip, Lovino commented, "What the hell can happen in a church? I'll be fine. Everything will be fine... I'm sure of it."

"I hope so," Arthur whispered in agreement. "I really do." He paused for a moment, contemplating something, before speaking in that same soft tone from earlier, "Do me a favour, spitfire?" When Lovino merely arched a fine brow, questioning his British lover, Arthur continued with his request, "Take Carnwennan—my dagger that I left with you—when we leave."

Lovino's eyes widened. "Hey, bastard, I might not understand much about laws or anything, but even I know that blades like that nearly qualify as a short sword," the Italian protested. "There has to be _something_ against this in a church, too, dammit."

"Well, tell them it's an ancient relic!" Arthur retorted, somewhat bristled, as he adjusted the collar of his shirt. He grumbled nearly incoherently and indignantly, "In a way, it is! Besides, it offers you some sort of protection while you're away in that church."

Lovino rolled his eyes. "What's the most that can happen in a church?"

"Well, for instance, Holy scriptures being read aloud might potentially damage me when my powers are restricted or possibly exorcise your dead brother," the Englishman remarked dryly. He rested his forehead against Lovino's and murmured underneath his breath in an almost inaudible whisper, "Please? Do it for me?"

"Fine, you damn bastard. I'll go get your fucking dagger, happy?"

"Quite."

"It's not going to melt in the middle of mass or some shit because it's enchanted or whatever, right?"

"Of course not! What is the purpose of me sending you to church with it if it was like that?" Arthur exclaimed with astonishment evident in his tone. "It would essentially be useless in that case!"

The two of them were oblivious to the fact that a certain little spectre had overheard them from the corridor, too lost in their own thoughts to sense the rampaging storm brewing in the Italian phantom's mind. Feliciano hovered above the floor and was nearly ready to greet his brother and brother-in-law even though he could no longer digest any food... That is, he was planning to do so until he had overheard Lovino announcing that he was planning to go to church with Feliciano and Arthur. They were talking about him again—like he was a burden or a problem—and Feliciano couldn't help but feel shame overtake him. Once more, he was causing trouble for his brother. It really would have been better if he hurried and passed onto the next life in order to ease everyone's mind. He didn't like being a ghost. Even if he didn't mean to do so, Feliciano was haunting his friends. Even if they still loved him and cared for him, it was obvious that they all worried for him now that his very existence still lingered in their minds and hearts.

He realised this now that an entire night had passed, and he was unable to sleep. It wasn't because Feliciano wasn't sleeping with his brother or room-mate to keep away the bogeyman or any nightmares either. Rather, because he was simply a disembodied soul now, Feliciano did not need any sleep. That was more than eight hours he spent in contemplation, and with those eight hours he had resolved to help Arthur and Lovino aid in his passing onto the next life. Nevertheless, he was unable to do anything and was unable to think of anything. There was nothing left that he wanted to do except for eating pasta and making gelato. He didn't really have any regrets left on Earth—at least, not any of which he knew.

He glided into the living room, and the happy couple smiled at him briefly—a rare moment, indeed—almost as though to hide the fact that they had just been discussing his fate indirectly. Feliciano beamed at the two of them in response—albeit weakly. Lovino seemed to have caught the shift in his brother's mood although he did not make any comment on it; Arthur as well seemed to be aware of something and appeared reluctant to ask if Feliciano was ready to head to one of the local neighbourhood churches. The Italian phantom smiled, not wanting his friends to worry, and gave a short nod of his head. "_Sì_! Let's go!" The ghost kept his eyes away from Arthur's wounds, knowing fairly well that he had obtained them while protecting Feliciano from the exorcist, and attempted to uphold his cheerful demeanour. "Ve, I wonder what English churches look like! I've never been to England before!"

"You've been to a church yesterday," Arthur pointed out subtly as he unlocked the front door. "You didn't really admire the architecture?"

"No, ve, I was too busy thinking," Feliciano confessed sheepishly while following Arthur and Lovino out of the manor. "I hear they are really narrow! Is that true, Artù?"

"I suppose so," Arthur responded coolly. The Briton nonchalantly led the Italian brothers to one of the local churches on foot "I haven't really admired the interior design of a church since... well, sometime before the year 600." The Italian phantom immediately pursed his lips together upon the realisation that he may have stepped on a sensitive subject. He wasn't clear on the details of Arthur's former life, nor did he understand Arthur's current circumstances. Nevertheless, the Briton gave Feliciano an encouraging smile and remarked, "At least you can walk inside of one, admire the architecture, and then tell me all about it—not that I expect much to happen in the House of God."

The younger Vargas brother found himself speechless and instead remained uncharacteristically silent. Lovino was quick to notice his brother's change in behaviour but made no comment. Even when they left Arthur to step into the church, the older brunet didn't utter a single word—not even in prayer, not even in hymn—in favour of keeping a weary eye trained on Feliciano. By the time service had ended, Lovino and Feliciano lingered in the church, the former simply waiting for Feliciano to deliver his last prayers. When his younger brother was finished, Lovino turned to the exit and found a young girl with bobbed blonde hair and bright green eyes blinking at him curiously.

"Feliciano?" she whispered softly. "Is that you?" A dainty hand covered her lips as they parted, gaping in surprise, before curving into a tender smile. "I didn't think I would see you again, Feliciano! My _bruder_ was acting rude yesterday, so I must apologise on his behalf. He doesn't think any wrong of his actions. Is this your _bruder_, Feliciano? You must be Lovino!"

"Lili!" he exclaimed with delight before bounding towards her. "It _is_ you! Ve, it's really nice to see you again! _Fratello_, this is Lili! I met her yesterday in the church, and she's a really nice girl! Lili, this is my brother, Lovino!"

"Y-You can see him?" Lovino stammered in the midst of the shock.

"Well, not clearly, but I can recognise him," Lili answered politely with a gentle smile on her lips. "I've always been sensitive to these things ever since I was young, but my _bruder_ worries about this... _ability_, I suppose. He is afraid that I will get hurt. It is why he does what he does. I hope your friend from yesterday was not harmed..."

Feliciano's eyes darkened with shame, and the younger brunet appeared crestfallen, turning his gaze downcast. Lovino noticed immediately and responded to Lili in his place, "If you're talking about Arthur, then you don't have to worry about him. He's tough and won't die easily—trust me." He smiled wryly. "That's the kind of guy he is."

Lili giggled into her hand and teased him lightly, "He is your fiancé, correct?"

Lovino's cheeks burned with embarrassment, and he found it difficult to nod his head. It wasn't that he was ashamed to be wedded to a man. He was simply unused to the storm of emotions swirling within him at the mere mention of Arthur's name. Warmth, joy, delight, euphoria, ecstasy, all surged through his body, in his veins, to his core, as he realised that soon, very soon, he would be united with Arthur for the rest of their existence.

"Please," Lili requested of Lovino solemnly, "tell him to be careful. I am afraid that my _bruder_ will try to slay him next. He is an exorcist for hire, you see, and anything that the Church asks him to do, he will do it as long as the price is paid."

"Why are you helping us?" Lovino inquired dubiously.

She gave him an encouraging smile and explained shortly, "I do not believe that you are evil." When she noticed that the Italian wanted her to elaborate, she indulged him, "I have seen otherworldly beings for most my life, and I have interacted with them easily. I cannot simply label them all as sinister forces. It is unfair."

"You really are a nice girl," Lovino commented offhandedly. He gave her a weak smile, remarking, "I'm glad that my brother has made a friend like you. It is... a difficult time."

A difficult time it was, Lovino reaffirmed the moment he, Feliciano, and Lili stepped out of the church and into the streets. Arthur was nowhere to be seen.

* * *

It wasn't everyday that a man simply pointed a gun to his head. However, Arthur found that it was happening quite often by now. The blond merely raised a thick brow, questioning the actions of the instigator, as his emerald eyes fixed onto the point of the gun. He questioned what kind of bullets the exorcist had planned to use today to himself, contemplating the options, before easily greeting the smaller blond. "Good morning," he remarked dryly with pointed sarcasm dripping off his tongue like venomous poison. "There's really no need to wave that out and about, you know? The United Kingdom has a restriction on firearms—a tight one, might I mention. People would grow frantic upon seeing what you're trying to pull."

"But nobody can see us, am I correct?" the exorcist—Vash Zwingli from Switzerland if he recalled correctly—remarked pointedly. "You didn't want to cause a scene, so you've placed a barrier concealing us within the barrier that had been raised last night."

"Ah," Arthur mused, "so you've noticed."

"How could I not?" Vash Zwingli seethed bitterly. "You made quite a big display of it!" Regaining his earlier composure, the smaller blond continued to press Arthur as he tightened his hold on the handgun. "Now tell me, what is your purpose, demon?"

"My purpose?" Arthur repeated incredulously. Amusement seeped into his voice despite the fact that the barrel of the gun was beginning to leave imprints in his flesh. "Now _that's_ a question I haven't heard in centuries! Do you wish to hear a list of my duties? It'll bore you, honestly."

Grounding his teeth, the young man spat, "Stop shitting around, demon, and answer the damn question!" It was becoming more and more evident that the smaller blonde had a short temper, given how he was reacting to Arthur's provocations. "What the hell are you doing in London?!"

"Now I wonder if that's proper language for a man who acts under the name of God," the Englishman remarked dryly, rolling his eyes. "If you must know, Mr Exorcist, I have estate in London—just as I do in Rome, Paris, Berlin, Copenhagen, Madrid, New Delhi, Hong Kong, Tokyo, Moscow—oh! Should I continue? I'm simply rambling by now."

"I will pull this damn trigger if you keep evading the fucking question," the exorcist hissed dangerously in his most menacing and threatening voice.

Arthur only blinked at the increase in agitation. Honestly, he wasn't afraid of a human; if he was afraid of humans, how could he be called the Devil? At the most, the Swiss exorcist could heavily damage him and send him retreating to the Underworld since Arthur had to refrain from using his full potential for the sake of the universal balance, but there was nothing particularly significant about this exorcist—aside from his accuracy as a shot. Hell, he couldn't even see Feliciano for Hades' sake! The Swiss man was completely ordinary and average; even his soul was the plainest shade of orange. Neither were the flames extraordinary bright—only average in luminescence at best. Still, maybe it wouldn't hurt to humour this short blond.

When he repeated his demands, Arthur easily responded, "I'm dragging a lost soul back to Hell—a fugitive, so to speak." His response had taken Vash Zwingli off-guard. Taking advantage of the exorcist's silence, Arthur continued, "Judging by the increase of exorcists in the area, I would assume that you are after the same soul. I'm warning you now that this is no average phantom. His strength is that of a high-ranking demon's. Pull back now if you wish to continue living; otherwise, I can arrange a room for you in Hell."

Vash Zwingli snorted, cocking the hammer of his revolver, attempting to appear more threatening to the demon whom he thought was his captive. "You think I'm going to Hell?"

"Can you look me in the eye and say that you've done good for this world?" Arthur retorted smoothly, locking his gaze with that of the exorcist's. "Your entire life I can see that you've only done dirty deeds to ensure your and your sister's survival. How admirable—but impure, nonetheless. The best you can do is purgatory, where you can work off all your sins, Mr Mercenary. I wonder if you understand that you've erased a good number of lost souls that were still so pure. They can neither return to Heaven nor to the River Vitae."

"You speak of lies, demon," Vash Zwingli insisted. Arthur noticed the slight twitch in his fingers and the subtle loosening of his tight grip on his gun.

"I have no reason to lie," the Englishman retorted nonchalantly and collectedly. The corners of his lips curved upwards in a smirk. "Still, I admit that you could possibly make quite the guard dog. I'll keep your name in mind for maybe ten or twenty years from now. You look the type to die young."

His words had instantly struck a nerve, for in that very moment, Vash Zwingli had pulled the trigger of his gun with wide, fearful eyes. Before the bullet could even penetrate Arthur's skin, a burst of brilliant blue flames enveloped the silver projectile, disintegrating it to ashes. The taller blond merely raised an eyebrow as though to ask, "Is that all you've got?" whilst the Swiss man began to stumble backwards. He immediately recited a verse from the Holy Bible out of pure anxiety, "_And God said, Let there be light: and there was light—_"

"—_And God saw the light, and it was good; and God divided the light from the darkness_," Arthur finished easily. "If I remember correctly, that was the third verse in the Book of Genesis. It won't work on me, for I am more or less a god like the Emperor of the Heavens. Rather, the text has been lost in translation—all of it, really—so unless you can recite Hebrew or Latin, I'm afraid it wouldn't do much. It's like a holy spell; it doesn't work as well in the modern world."

"W-What?" Vash spluttered nervously.

"Blimey, you haven't realised it yet? I'm His Infernal Majesty, King Arthur Pendragon Kirkland of the Underworld and Third Son of Hades," Arthur clarified immediately in a deadpan although it was quite clear that he was losing his patience. "I'm the bloody Devil, you sodding wanker." The Englishman snapped his fingers, dispelling the barrier to reveal Lovino, Feliciano, and the little blonde girl from yesterday who quite resembled Vash Zwingli, and remarked, "If you don't mind, Mr Zwingli, I have other priorities than playing with your guns. Maybe some other time." Strolling over to his fiancé and brother-in-law, Arthur bent to Lovino's ear and whispered, "Draw Carwennan. You don't have to wield it. Simply unsheathe it from its scabbard an inch or two, and then run with Feliciano." Lovino shot him a sceptical glance that he brushed aside with his own look of impatience, demanding that Lovino not question his orders at this time. Arthur inclined his head towards Vash, pointing out the guns to Lovino, before raising an eyebrow as though to question if Lovino trusted him now.

The Italian only gave a curt nod of his hand as his fingers brushed over the white hilt of the dagger and the leather scabbard. He flicked the blade from the scabbard only a few inches as Arthur had requested, freeing only part of the silver metal. Gradually, mist and fog rolled from the crooks and cracks and crevices surrounding them, enveloping Lovino and Arthur, before the Demon King shoved him forward, exclaiming, "Head for home, Lovino! He can't see you now!"

Vash Zwingli, who had suspected that Arthur was hiding some tricks up his sleeves, began firing several shots from his handgun. Immediately, the Englishman summoned again another barrier to surround the two combatants and deflected Vash Zwingli's volley of bullets.

"I'm so sorry, _Herr_ Arthur!" the blonde haired girl exclaimed from behind him. "He must have followed me! My _bruder_ is very protective!"

"Not a problem, my dear," Arthur responded amiably. At least one of the two siblings had manners! "I understand completely—the feeling of not wanting to leave anyone alone. I want to leave immediately, so take your brother and head in the other direction, if you will. I have no reason to hurt him."

"What nonsense are you feeding my sister?!" demanded Vash Zwingli angrily and bitterly. "Stay away from her!"

"She's a little too young for my tastes anyway," Arthur retorted before swinging his arm from left to right, summoning a wall of tall blue flames. He turned to Lili and bid her goodbye while Vash was distracted. "Until next time, Miss Zwingli." A strange notion to curtsey overcame the blonde haired girl after sensing his regal air, and she did so clumsily. He only chuckled, patted her head, and followed after his Italian lover and brother-in-law.

Later that night, sometime well after Lovino's traditional Italian dinner and shortly after tucking in Arthur's five guardian spirits as well as Peter and Kaelin into bed, the Demon Court and Yao and Kiku gathered in the living room for an emergency meeting. (Arthur had mentioned to Kiku that he had been targeted by an exorcist in passing when the fox spirit asked him how his day went during their return home.) Still, neither Alistair nor Arthur made contact with each other—not in glances, not in words, not even in actions—but the others made plenty of noise to make up for the two conflicting brother since they were all stubborn characters in their own right.

"You let him use _Carwennan_?!" Yao exclaimed with utter disbelief washing over his features. "That's one of your three _sacred weapons_, you know?!"

"I know," Arthur responded dryly. "I trust him with it. He knows how to use a knife; I've seen his grandfather's collection."

"Does he even understand the value of such a dagger?" Yao retorted. "It is no average knife, Your Majesty! It is an ancient relic! A treasure! A highly valuable artefact! Your Majesty, please, what on Earth were you thinking?!"

"Yao has a point, Arthur," Owain reasoned. "Carwennan is a magic tool that you simply can't just give away like that."

"I'm just letting him hold onto it since he's in a world surrounded by daemons!" argued the Demon King. "Besides, he's had it for the last seven years, and it's still in excellent condition. I think that is proof enough that he is able to use it!"

Their shouts could be heard all the way upstairs, and Lovino prayed that—for their sakes—the children would not be awakened by all of the arguing. The Italian crawled underneath the covers of Arthur's bed. Well, he supposed it was their bed now that Lovino had moved into Arthur's English manor. Pulling the blanket over his shoulders and tucking it underneath his chin, Lovino made himself comfortable on his side of the bed, desiring nothing more than warmth in the middle of winter. Nevertheless, it would appear that the others would keep Arthur busy all night long with their constant pestering and nagging and prodding and lecturing and preaching and griping and whining and complaining even though the blond was clearly the _king_.

"Uncle Arthur still causeth quite a riot wherever he goeth, doth he not?"

Lovino's tired mind managed to translate that inquiry into modern day English as he grumbled an exhausted, "_Sì, lui è un fottuto idiota._" His eyes nearly fluttered shut until he processed what had just happened. His hazel eyes snapped open as he was suddenly aware of an intruder, and he hastily scrambled upright into a sitting position. He immediately grasped the white hilt of Carwennan he had hidden underneath a cluster of pillows at Arthur's insistence. He wondered momentarily if his fiancé had some kind of ability to perceive the future—that, or his intuitions were simply spot-on. He narrowed his eyes at the shadow that had phased through the glass windows, focusing on the shroud that was reminiscent of the black flames of Arthur's immediate relatives, as it solidified into a tall, lanky figure. "W-Who are you?" Lovino stammered out nervously—cursing himself for sounding so afraid—as he attempted to make himself more of a commanding figure.

"Oh, Gwen," an eerie and ominous voice mused in a teasing tone, "thou canst not possibly have forgotten _me_!" A young man stepped out of the shadows, gradually revealing himself, but at the moment, Lovino could only focus on his white smile that glowed with a sinister sensation. "'Tis I, Mordred, thy favourite nephew... or dost thou really not remember?"

* * *

**A/N: **There's quite a bit of family drama here and there with Arthur. It's inevitable, I suppose.

I just wanted to use this space to thank everyone for the reviews so far as well as everyone who followed or added this story to their favourites! It really means a lot to me!


	5. Chapter 4

**IV: The Druid**

The young man who had materialised from the ashy black clouds possessed light brown hair with a rebellious curl that was somewhat bent and angular and a pair of bright green eyes glowing with the polished vibrancy of jade. His skin was a fair complexion, somewhat tanned but not quite like the exotic olive complexion of Lovino's own skin, and youthful. He didn't appear to be a boy any older than eighteen or twenty. His clothing was definitely out of context, however, and made him appear lost in time. He donned silvery dark armour similar to that of a knight with a thick black scarf wrapped around his neck like a cloak of sorts. He grinned deviously and mischievously at Lovino, remarking, "Gwen, thou appearest as young and youthful as ever. Alas, thy body is that of a man now, or 'tis not the truth? Make no mistake though; thy soul still gloweth as brilliantly as it had centuries ago. Thou art beautiful still—man or woman. 'Tis no wonder why Uncle is so smitten with thee—though I do wonder why thy body is that of a man now—after all of these centuries. Perhaps thou art afraid to love my dear uncle again—not that I blame thee—for there is nothing but war and conquest in a life with my uncle, King Arthur."

"What the fuck are you rambling about, you creepy bastard?" Lovino hissed, gripping the hilt of the dagger even more tightly than he had before. The knuckles of his hand turned white, and his fingernails began to pierce into his flesh—though it was not enough to draw blood.

"Dost thou not recall?" the dark knight mused as he approached Lovino slowly. "Dost thou not recall the years of war and turmoil that raged across the lands of beloved Britannia while King Arthur—" he spat the name with pure and utter hatred and loathing "—was away on the mainland on yet another conquest? Dost thou not recall the rebellion rising against Camelot? Dost thou not recall me trampling about the court, pulling thee from thy throne, and beating thee to a blood pulp?" He stretched his arm to grasp Lovino, but before the Italian could duck underneath his hand and dodge the intruder, Mordred had already gripped a fistful of Lovino's rich brown locks. He narrowed his eyes into a vehement glare as Lovino grimaced with pain. "Dost thou not recall me rising to the throne and proposing to thee? Dost thou not recall fleeing to the Tower of London to hide from me, who challenged King Arthur and his Twenty-Four Knights of the Round Table and who died at the Battle of Camlann? 'Tis I, Mordred, who hath returned seeking revenge from the seizure of my throne! 'Twas I who was the true king; 'twas I who was the rightful heir!"

Lovino immediately withdrew Carwennan and lashed at his assailant. Mordred quickly stepped away from the Italian's attacks and glowered even more threateningly at the smaller brunet. The Italian himself was wondering where he had drawn all of that courage momentarily before focusing entirely on his escape.

"I see that my uncle hath bestowed upon thee the dagger Carwennan, one of the three sacred weapons given to him by the Heavens," Mordred mused as he glanced around the room as though searching for Lovino. Gripping Carwennan firmly in his hand, the consort to-be realised that this was his chance to escape. "It was one of the items he vowed never to gift anyone else; thou must be honoured, Gwen." Lovino attempted to slip out of bed without making much noise, trying not to shuffle the sheets, trying to step quietly onto the wooden planks, trying not to rustle the door knob. However, Mordred quickly caught onto his course of action and snatched Lovino's hand from the door, pulling it back and dropping Carwennan in the process. The taller brunet grinned devilishly, chiming, "Found you! Uncle's dagger may cast upon the user a shroud of invisibility, but it does nothing to mute sound!"

_Sound!_ Lovino exclaimed to himself in a moment of epiphany. Why the hell was he bothering to be quiet? It wasn't like the children needed to sleep through this when one of their caretakers was being attacked. Before Mordred had a chance to react, Lovino barked, his loud, piercing voice shrilling throughout the entire English manor, unravelling all and any order within the household, "Arthur, you fucking tea-drinking British bastard, get the fuck in here and fucking _help me_, god-fucking-dammit!"

Mordred's pallor paled instantaneously, and he immediately relinquished his hold around Lovino's wrist. Before the Italian could beat him to grasping Carwennan, Mordred flung the dagger into a dark corner with a ferocious and furious kick of his steel-toed boots. The dark phantom dissolved into the dark shroud in which he had come before soaring out of the window and into the night sky. At the same time, Arthur slammed open the door, panting heavily with fear laden eyes. The blond pulled Lovino into a tight embrace, asking feverishly, "What happened, spitfire? Are you okay?" He pressed a chaste kiss against Lovino's temple, and the brunet could feel Arthur's heart pounding against his chest violently.

"A creepy bastard who fucking said that his name was Mordred or some shit happened, that's what, dammit," Lovino grumbled, giving no thought to his words, as he buried his face into Arthur's chest, relaxing in his lover's embrace. He had no idea what effect his words would have over the Briton.

"Mordred?" Arthur repeated, uttering the name with appal and shock. "There's no way... He couldn't have... Not... Not you. He couldn't have been targeting _you_... That's not what's supposed to happen..." Lovino's eyes widened as the Englishman's thoughts became more and more chaotic and incoherent. Panic gradually overwhelmed the blond, and his hold on Lovino tightened the more he became distressed. All the Italian could do was simply hold onto his British lover. He had never seen Arthur so distraught in his life, and he didn't understand why either. The two of them were oblivious to the fact that the Briton's family were observing them from the end of the corridor with grim expressions beset on their visages. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Lovino," Arthur muttered under his breath. "I'm so, so, so sorry—so unbelievably sorry. It wasn't supposed to happen this way. You weren't supposed to meet him at all. I was supposed to handle the situation myself. I thought he would be after me. Not you—oh, Heavens and Hades forbid! Not you!" He growled angrily—the rage directed to none other but the Englishman himself—and spat, "Blast it all!" No, he was more than angry, more than enraged, more than infuriated, and Arthur had nobody to blame other than himself. Was this entire operation a mistake then? What else had he left to play?

"Hey, don't worry about it, _mio angelo prezioso_," Lovino whispered into Arthur's ear, pressing his forehead gently against the Englishman's. As he spoke, his voice sounded distant; his thoughts were present elsewhere. Something Mordred had mentioned disturbed him, rocking his core, but he couldn't be bothered while Arthur was so clearly distressed. He immediately covered his uneasiness with cajoling, comforting words that were somewhat hollow and half-hearted. "I'm okay now, aren't I? Don't beat yourself up over this. You didn't see this coming, but everything's okay now. Let's... Let's go to sleep, all right?" The brunet pulled his British lover into the bedroom, giving a curt nod at the others upon noticing them at the end of the corridor, and shut the door behind him. After coaxing Arthur underneath the covers, Lovino crawled into bed and rested the blond's head against his chest whilst stroking the unruly locks tenderly. As time trudged by, languid and lethargic, it became painfully obvious to Lovino that his lover had not relaxed even a smidgen. "Do you want to talk about it?" Lovino whispered softly to keep prying ears from overhearing their conversation.

Arthur was silent for a moment before inhaling sharply and exhaling a shaky, "All right," conceding to the Italian's requests. Again, he was still and quiet. Biting his lower lip, the blond proposed, "Would you tell me what is bothering you in exchange? I feel useless as your fiancé and King. I apologise for the way I had behaved earlier; it was unsightly of—"

"Shut up, you polite bastard," Lovino snapped almost immediately upon noticing that Arthur had reverted to his aloof and distant tendencies once more. "You're acting like _that_ again!"

"L-Like what?" Arthur stammered in genuine bemusement. He pulled away from Lovino's chest and rolled onto his side to face his Italian lover. "I do not understand of what you are speaking—?"

"Like _that_!" Lovino seethed indignantly, smacking Arthur on the chest and shoving him away lightly. "Your speech gets all stuffy and stiff when you're trying to hide something, and when you sound business-like and professional, it usually means that you're trying to handle something on your own! You're not _alone_, you infuriating bastard!" Hazel eyes sparked with a light of irritation then as the Italian continued to spit, "Do you not realise that you have Gilbert, Mathias, that perverted bastard, your entire family, even Yao Wang and Kiku, and—dammit—_me_ to help you? Right now, it only seems like you're pushing them away!"

Arthur averted his eyes from the brunet in shame, unable to face Lovino with the way he was right now, and responded desolately, "This is for your own good—_all_ of you."

"Like hell that kind of excuse can pass with me now!" Lovino retorted. "What's the point of keeping secrets when we're going to be m-ma-mar-_married_, for fuck's sake!" He spluttered with embarrassment, his cheeks reddening with a sort of timidness and meekness that he attempted to brush aside nonchalantly, and tried to hold his ground with Arthur, glaring firmly and insistently at the blond. His voice softened when he noticed that the Englishman had shrunk in front of him in guilt and shame. "What are you so afraid of? You're the fucking _Devil_—the Demon King of the Underworld—damn it all, bastard."

Almost shyly, the blond returned his gaze to that of his lover's as he stretched out his hand and allowed the tips of his fingers to trace the outline of the Italian's jaw. Subconsciously, Lovino leaned into Arthur's touch, basking in that gentle warmth, while waiting for the Briton's answer.

"My fear?" Arthur repeated in a hoarse whisper. The words were inaudible as though uttered with disbelief, as though the Briton could not possibly conceive such a concept, as though the entire notion was incredulous in itself. "Long ago, I could say that I fear nothing, but that was because I had little to lose and because I had confidence in my strength." His voice held that distant tone with them, but instead of building a wall to keep others outside of his heart and mind intentionally, Arthur was simply far away—lost in his dreams and memories and thoughts and emotions—as he spoke aloud words meant only to his closest confidant to hear. "Now there are persons whom I hold dear to me, Lovino, and whom I must treasure and cherish with all of my being, for I do not wish to lose them. Almost a decade ago, I could not fathom loss, but now it is all I fear. I do not wish to lose you, Lovino, nor my good men—my Twenty-Four Knights and my friends."

"How could you possibly lose us?" Lovino whispered in response.

Arthur's visage darkened with a solemn, grim expression. His emerald eyes glowed with an agonising despair that rose from the depths of his memories to haunt him like an unrelenting, vengeful phantom. "You were not present over sixteen hundred years ago," he muttered under his breath. "You did not see the horrors of that day, Lovino, and I hope you will never see such horrors in the rest of your longevity... But perhaps that is asking too much. There is bound to be war and conquest in a life with me..." The Englishman choked then, and Lovino was surprised to see a watery glass film cover his emerald orbs, making them appear more crystallised than ever before. "Would you still stay with me then?"

_...there is nothing but war and conquest in a life with my dear uncle, King Arthur..._

Mordred, the bastard, had said the same thing. Lovino supposed the archaic boy wasn't lying when he claimed to be acquainted with Arthur. Nevertheless, the Italian was undeterred, remarking, "If I wasn't prepared for that kind of shit, I would have left your ass seven years ago the moment I met you. I knew you were some crazy bastard from the start, dammit." His words caused the corners of Arthur's lips to curve upwards in a relieved smile. The blond reached out for Lovino, pulling the brunet into his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around the smaller, as though to comfort himself, assuring himself that Lovino was still very much with him.

"Mordred," Arthur began quietly, "is my nephew, and I... I've killed him."

Lovino's breath hitched in his throat upon hearing and processing the words Arthur had uttered softly and swiftly, integrating the information and accommodating it to his prior knowledge. He recalled that a few days ago, Arthur had informed him that this fugitive—now known as the bastard Mordred—was the first soul the Englishman had ever reaped. Mordred was Arthur's last kill as a human mere moments before he was forced to live life as a demon, raised to become a demon prince, King of the Underworld. It was all coming together—although gradually—now that the fugitive had revealed himself. Lovino's mind was racing back and forth as he tried to make sense out of this piece of news as well as what Mordred had ranted incessantly before.

"He said that the throne was his," Lovino recalled just as quietly, "and that he was the rightful heir."

"He might have been," Arthur conceded, "but I do not know—not for certain. Do you remember that night seven years ago when I told you that I once had lived a normal human life? That they were called the Arthurian times? That both the Underworld and the Heavens manipulated the Surface World to accommodate this _game—_this, this _contest—_of theirs? Memories were erased, history was fabricated, and everything as it was known may be been an intricate lie crafted by high-ranking daemons—both demons and angels. Mordred was from that period of time. In that historical fantasy—or perhaps a fantastical history—I had three older sisters, Elaine, Morgan le Fay, and Morgause, all of whom were notorious in their own right. Elaine did nothing to help any of her siblings, Morgan le Fay attempted to overthrow me and acted as a villain to both me and my wife Guinevere, and Morgause... She was Mordred's mother who sought to aid Morgan in claiming Camelot rather than me—not that I can blame her, really. I could have been considered a stranger who entered her life as a long-lost brother. She didn't know me well, and neither did I to her.

"From Morgan le Fay, Mordred learnt of the dark arts and became what was known as a Druid, similar to that of a witch doctor or a shaman. He was a gifted boy for one who hadn't made any contract or contact with the Devil of that time—my biological father—nor had he been borne of a daemon and a human. In order words, he didn't sign his name in the Devil's Black Book, he didn't make any contract with demons, and he wasn't a cambion. Mordred simply was a wonderful and magnificent scholar and warrior, and it wasn't surprising that he managed to lead a rebellion against my throne. And here," Arthur gave a weak and weary smile, "is where the story of vengeance deepens.

"Still, it's undeniable that Mordred was raised well by my alleged sisters, Morgan and Morgause, for the most part. By well, I mean that he was strong, youthful, and charismatic... Additionally, he shared that same resentment towards me with his mother and aunt. If I think about it now, Morgan and Morgause may have suspected that I was an outsider—that I was no son of Uther Pendragon and that I may not have been the true king of Britannia—or maybe they have always felt that way since I dragged from a life of peasantry into a life of royalty and nobility. At any rate, Mordred surely felt that the throne was his, for Uther Pendragon's blood surely ran through his veins through Morgause. Thus, while I was away on the continent to continue my conquest, defeating enemies that posed a threat to my people, Mordred overwhelmed my court and threw my wife Guinevere onto the floor from her throne.

"He beat her," Arthur muttered softly into Lovino's ear. Shame bled through his tone, intertwining with feelings of guilt and remorse, as he attempted to hide his face within Lovino's brown tresses. "I should have remained in Camelot. I should have stayed with Guinevere; if I had, then she would have never been beaten." A part of Arthur sounded defeated and sore as though the topic was still a fresh wound, and a trickle of jealousy slipped through the cracks of Lovino's conscious and conscience. The Italian was relieved that his British lover was unable to see him, but the fact that his fingers crept up to the front of Arthur's shirt, curling into the fabric, enlightened Arthur to the brunet's slight discomfort at the mention of Guinevere. Earlier, Mordred had been going on and on about her as well, and Lovino couldn't help but feel rather discouraged with her memory—no matter how ridiculous the notion may be. "Everything could have been avoided," Arthur murmured weakly.

"It can't be helped now," Lovino muttered. "It's all in the past, so it's better to move on. Obviously, that Mordred bastard didn't get the fucking memo."

Arthur chuckled wryly and nodded his head in agreement. "Mordred proposed to her," the blond continued. "He proposed to her, asking her to be his queen, and she fled to the Tower of London to hide from him until my return. I met him in my royal court. My bastard of nephew was feasting when he challenged me to a battle for the kingdom, a battle that became known as the Battle of Camlann. He lost and died in battle by my sword. The outcome was..." The Englishman faltered in his tale at the mention of battles and wars, fluttering his eyes shut, and kept his silence. He loathed war—declaring it, instigating it, participating within it, even speaking of it—especially the war he fought against Mordred. That's why, instead of furthering his tale, Arthur attempted to relax his body and lose himself in a land of sleep.

Lovino didn't press him for avoiding the issue at hand. The Italian knew fairly well by now that Arthur hated all of the killing, but it wasn't to say that he couldn't do. Lovino had already seen him do so twice—once with Valentino, a traitor to Lovino's family, and once again with Patrick Brian O'Connor, a former member of the Kirkland family by marriage. The topic of violence unnerved the brunet as well, so Lovino allowed his British lover to evade the topic of battles and wars. He closed his eyes instead and hoped to lose himself to sleep just like Arthur had attempted.

They were still awake though, and Arthur simply concluded his monologue, "Can you see now why being a ghost—shackled to the Surface World—would be dangerous, Lovino?"

The brunet nodded his head tiredly. Vengeance, revenge, avenging, it was all too much. Lovino was exhausted merely thinking of such a life, of such an existence.

"That's why I really want to help your brother pass onto his next life," Arthur whispered softly and tenderly. "There's no meaning for him to wander aimlessly here. He'll be exposed to a myriad of negativity and misery and agony and... it's not worth it—clinging to the Realm of the Living when one's body has already perished, that is."

"I get it," Lovino responded. "I get it already." The brunet understood what Arthur was saying when it came to Mordred and his revenge, and he understood the importance of resolving such a matter as well as helping his brother pass onto the next life. "The dead should just stay dead, is that right?" His question went unheard, for Arthur had already drifted into sleep before Lovino. The Italian scoffed lightly, rolling his eyes, and followed suit, closing his eyes shut.

* * *

"Who are you?" was the first question Lovino found himself asking when he discovered that he was not exactly alone in the seemingly empty void. In the vast darkness, there was only a trickle of light pouring into the spacious environment from above, breaking through the shadows, shining upon a slender woman donning a medieval gown of rich and colourful fabrics and golden and eccentric embroidery. Her soft golden brown hair was curled lightly and pulled into an elegant bun with a few strands escaping the up-do to frame her delicate, heart-shaped face. She focused her gentle eyes upon him, and he found that they were a sort of dark, rich brown that appeared somewhat crimson underneath the light. She was quite beautiful, if Lovino had to say so himself, in a rather phantasmal fashion.

"Who am I?" she repeated his question. Her voice was lyrical, sounding like the chimes of silver bells, and the cadence of her words resembled the flight of fairies—light and soft. She smiled at him kindly and amiably although there was something offsetting in regards to the subtle glint in her eyes. There was some sort of sorrow present in her brown orbs as she remarked enigmatically, "I am thy predecessor."

"My predecessor?" Lovino parroted her sceptically. "In what?"

"In everything, it seems," she responded vaguely before listing off examples on her dainty fingers, "I was the first one to possess the soul named Romano, I fell in love with Arthur long before thou didst, I married Arthur long before thou couldst, we bedded long before you two did, and I was able to reign over Camelot long before thou couldst ever oversee the Underworld." A hush fell over the two of them as they each donned contrasting expressions. She was calm and collected as ever while Lovino's thoughts were racing in his head. Unable to take any more of the stillness, she spoke once again, asking the brunet, "Dost thou know whom I am now?" However, Lovino didn't answer, so she continued speaking, "My name is Guinevere Pendragon, the first, last, and only Queen Regnant of Camelot and the former Queen Consort of King Arthur Pendragon."

"G-Guinevere...?" Lovino whispered in pure and utter disbelief. "Why...?"

"Did dearest Arthur ever tell thee, Romano of to-day," the former queen inquired of the young man, "of what a soul consists? I do not believe he did—though he is not at fault for that. Nobody knows what is in a soul. Nobody knows from whence a soul comes. Nobody knows what makes a soul. Nobody but our Maker." She smiled wryly at him. "Of course, that also includes me. I cannot explain this phenomenon to thee either... except that, perhaps, it is ordained by the Heavens. I am speaking to thee now through thy soul, Romano of to-day. Dost thou know what that name means? It is simply 'From Rome,' and I—like you—am from Roman descent. It appears that is not the only trait we share." Her eyes softened some as she asked him, "Thou art in love with my lord and king, Arthur?"

His heart ached painfully, throbbing in his chest, as she uttered his lover's name. He gave her a curt nod of his head, not having the courage to verbalise his answer. If they shared the same soul, then his further confirmation would hurt her as it would him. Nevertheless, there was no proof claiming that they were the same person. "Do you still love him?" Lovino asked her quietly and cautiously.

She only laughed in response, waving off his question with a delicate flick of her wrist, responding, "I cannot possibly! I am dead and now a mere memory." Tears brimmed the corners of her eyes, which glimmered with a great sadness that nearly choked Lovino. "That is why I have to ask thee a favour, Romano of to-day," she pleaded quietly. "Please, love him and continue to love him with enough love for the two of us. Perhaps it is silly of me to request this of thee because—surely, most certainly and most definitely—thou lovest him a great deal—perhaps greater than the amount of dances shared between the moon and the earth. I do understand that we share the same soul—nay, forgive me—I died and passed this soul unto thee—but, still..." She pulled her gaze away from Lovino as shimmering white light rolled down her olive cheeks, reddened with shame and embarrassment. "I worry now that Mordred has escaped from his prison in Hell."

"What is he trying to do anyway?" Lovino asked Guinevere, spitting out his vitriolic words vehemently, as he crossed his arms defensively. "There's no more _Camelot_. Hell, nobody even knows for certain where it is! He can't take it over—especially since he's dead!"

She shook her head and responded, "I do not believe that his goal is Camelot. Mordred appears a restless soul and may only try to quell his vengeance against my—nay, forgive me once again—_our_ beloved Arthur." Her eyes met with Lovino again with a new-found confidence. "His hatred has been instilled into him by his mother and aunt. Morgan le Fay especially despised _my_ being and has attempted time after time to slander my title by accusing me of adultery. Thou may have heard of my alleged affairs with Lancelot, which are unfounded, of course. The witch had cast a spell upon me, and I wouldn't be surprised if Mordred tried his hand at a similar tactic upon thee, Romano of to-day, to destroy thy relationship with dearest Arthur." Hardening her eyes, she warned Lovino one last time, "Be weary of his words, Romano of to-day. Mordred is an educated boy, and his words hold great persuasive powers. I am sure thou hast learnt of his proposal to me, so I ask thee never to waver in thy trust within Arthur. That is where many have failed, and there they have fallen."

Lovino bit his tongue to prevent himself from crying an outburst he may come to regret. Instead, he questioned tentatively, almost shyly, "Are you talking about the Battle of Camlann?" Shock shone through her brown eyes, but she nodded nevertheless without giving any verbal answer. The Italian felt his heart clench as he realised that even in her death she was still faithful to Arthur. It was silly to consider, even for the slightest second, that she was an adulterer. "May I ask you another question?" When she gave another nod of her head, Lovino presented his final inquiry, "Why was your soul—Romano—given to me, a... a man?" Mordred had mentioned it before; he had claimed that she was afraid to fall in love with Arthur once again. Still, it was too late for that anyway. Lovino was still very much attached to the Briton. Even though it was foolish of him to wonder why he hadn't been born a woman (for then they would not have to suffer through the prejudice of the current era in the Surface World), now that he had met Queen Guinevere—even if she may be but a figment of his imagination—and now that Mordred claimed his soul was once hers, Lovino couldn't help but wonder.

Guinevere smiled sadly. "He was telling the truth," she confessed, "but only partially." She gestured to her bosom and responded, "I am but a mother, not an efficient archer, and as strong as a woman may be, it is undeniable that her frame is only slight to a male. God has created physiological differences between the two sexes for this reason; one of whom is a mother, the other a father. Of course, that is not to say that a woman _must_ love a man and a man to a woman, and I put my faith in the fact that, within my next life, I would be reunited with Arthur, man or woman, and love him still. I only prayed that I would be of use to him and that I would be born a male for his advantage in battle, for all I could do for him as his wife and queen is rule his kingdom after his departure."

"You know... what he truly rules now?" Lovino deducted wearily.

She laughed. "Only after I had passed away, and the soul Romano returned to the River Vitae," Guinevere further clarified. "This soul has its own memories—memories of past lives and of the Otherside, that is—but now it is thine and thine alone, Romano of to-day."

"Lovino," he told her politely with a dramatic bow. "My name is Lovino Vargas, Your Majesty."

Her giggles filled the dark abyss. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lovino Vargas," Guinevere responded merrily, her voice a gentle chime. "Do call me Gwen, however, for thou art about to become a prince consort soon, art thou not?" The ray of light expanded, causing her and Lovino to lift their heads up and peer into the beam. "It would seem that day has arrived. It is time for me to take my leave." The former queen of Camelot began to fade, becoming more and more transparent, as the light particles similar to those that made up the River Vitae began to dissipate from her form. She smiled at him. "Please, Lovino, take care of him for me. Thou art the only one for him now." Before he had a chance to respond, Gwen vanquished in a flash of white light, and his eyes opened just as sunlight poured over him.

Kiku had just parted the curtains.

"Good morning, Lovino-sama," the fox spirit greeted the consort to-be politely with a formal and precise bow. "His Majesty is already downstairs with the children and his family. He said not to disturb your sleep, for you appeared peaceful and tranquil. I must apologise if the light had startled you."

"N-No," Lovino protested wearily with a gravelly voice. His throat felt dry as though he had been speaking for hours. "It's fine, Kiku."

"We will be having a meeting with the Twenty-Four Knights later this evening," Kiku informed diligently as he served Lovino a mug of warm coffee. The Italian took the beverage gratefully, relishing the warm that conducted through the earthenware. "In addition, Arthur wishes to take your brother to an art museum in hopes that it would catalyse any realisations." The brunet nodded his head but said nothing other than a short thank you before taking a sip of the warm coffee. His encounter with Guinevere was fresh in his mind, yet he couldn't recall most of their conversation. A part of him wished to dismiss the encounter as simply a dream, but another part of him thought otherwise.

"Hey, Kiku," Lovino spoke up, stopping the fox spirit before he could leave the room, "could you tell me what exactly is the Twenty-Four Knights? I've never even heard of it until recently. I know there's not a lot that I know about the Otherside, so everything is a little confusing. It's... It's not the same as the Council?"

Kiku gave Lovino another one of his polite smiles. "Well, I suppose that will be our lesson for the day," the fox spirit assured his lord. He bowed deeply and left the room. Lovino sighed with a slight agitation, holding the warm mug in his hands over his lap, before finishing it and setting the mug aside. He had to make breakfast for the children first of all.

* * *

"What do you mean I can't go to the art museum with you?!" Lovino roared indignantly, glaring adamantly at his British lover, as the children stepped into their shoes and slipped on their winter coats.

Arthur gave his spitfire a sheepish grin but didn't respond. Feliciano cowered behind the blond, not ever having seen Lovino this enraged before in his life, while the five guardian spirits still chatted animatedly amongst themselves. Yao rolled his eyes and answered in place of the king, "You have lessons today, My Lord."

"Can't he skip them for an hour?" Arthur suggested.

"Can't," Yao countered. "It is a long one today."

Lovino groaned in irritation, earning Yao's scorn, before glaring at everything in his path. "Fine!" he snapped. "Let's just get these damn lessons over with!" After pointing an accusatory finger at his brother, warning him that this was _not_ a date with _his_ _fidanzato_, Lovino marched up the stairs. Arthur couldn't hide his amused smirk.

"He's jealous," Feliciano whispered softly.

Yao snorted. "How unbecoming of the King's consort," he grumbled before following after Lovino and into the Tower.

In the Tower, Lovino settled himself in Arthur's ancient sofa and attempted to make himself comfortable for a long lesson. He narrowed his eyes at the Chinese familiar as Yao entered the room. Throwing his feet onto the makeshift table of books, Lovino hissed, "So what now?"

"You wanted to know about the Twenty-Four Knights, correct?" Yao remarked dryly. "So we're starting off with a history lesson. Long ago, in the Arthurian times, King Arthur Pendragon had twenty-four knights as well—the Round Table, as they were called. These Twenty-Four Knights were made of eight triads, just as the Twenty-Four Knights of the Underworld are as well. At first it was a jest, knighting Gilbert and Mathias, but the news spread throughout the realm quickly like a wildfire. Soon, the strongest and most trusted advocates of King Arthur were gathered after proving their steel and knighted as well. They are his sword and shield, his hunting group of companions, and his most loyal friends. They came to symbolise the strength of the kingdom.

"There are the three Golden-Tongued Knights, to whom everyone heeds; the three Virtuous Knights, against whom the foulest fiends cannot face; the three Knights of Battle, who do not flee at the sight of blood nor sword, spear, or arrow; the three Enchanter Knights, whom no one can overcome; the three Royal Knights, whom in peace nobody could refuse them and in war nobody could withstand them; the three Just Knights, who advocate the cause of justice; the three Offensive Knights, whom nobody can refuse them of anything they wished; and the Three Counsellor Knights, who aid His Majesty with advice and relief. Each triad is a counterpart of that of Camelot's Twenty-Four Knights of the Round Table."

Before Lovino could ask any more questions, Yao clapped his hands together and announced that it was time to move onto the real lessons of the day, utilising magic tools. "Anyway!" he sang, breaking Lovino away from the topic on which the Italian was focused. "You've heard of runes, right? Even losers that can't use magic like you can use runes as long as you know how to activate them. Most runes come into effect by simply drawing them—like charms or protection wards—since they use life energy from their immediate surroundings instead of the user's magic. We'll start with the basics first—protection and defensive tools, beginning with the most basic runes: protection wards. These keep spirits out of the area, but they also seal anything that had stayed within the area inside. Then we move onto support and offensive. As a defenceless human, using these tools are the least you can do."

Lovino then recalled the exorcist from yesterday. "Are these tools what exorcists use as well?"

"Yes," Yao answered brusquely, "but theirs are more suitable to battles. Of course, being able to use magic tools also depends on one's affinity with the supernatural." He gave Lovino an almost encouraging smile. "Since you're a Vargas, you'll be okay—or so I would think."

A knock on the door alerted Lovino of Kiku's presence. "Come in!" he called immediately. He then regretted his actions as he saw Kiku open the door while holding a towering stack of papers and a quill and jar of ink.

"_Cazzo._"

* * *

**A/N:** Mordred's appearance is based off Seborga's physical appearance. This _may_ become important one hundred or so years in the future of this universe. Mordred is not at all Seborga though. Likewise, Guinevere's appearance was based off a concept of a 2Pnyo!Romano, but her personality has no relation to 2Pnyo!Romano at all.

The Battle of Camlann is King Arthur's last battle where, according to some accounts, he died. However, most say that it is where he was fatally wounded and sent to Avalon to recover, where he later died. I used the latter version for this story (also evidenced in the prequel) so that the alternate universe made a little bit more sense with how Arthur assumed his title as Demon King and the Third Son of Hades.

And I know I'm pretty bloody terrible at pretending to be Shakespeare. Mordred speaks in archaic English, and archaic is one thing I am not.


	6. Chapter 5

**V: Shadow Tag**

"Nothing?" Arthur asked Feliciano the moment they had settled at a local park. The five children immediately took to the playground. Alfred was challenging Jia Long to race across the jungle gym whilst Angelique and Matthew occupied the swing set with Neeraja pushing the two of them. Arthur sat upon a wooden bench, watching the children play, and Feliciano hovered beside him.

"_Niente_," Feliciano confirmed with a shake of his head. "You even went so far as to buy the tickets and accompany me and everything, Artù. I'm so sorry."

"I wouldn't say it was a complete waste of time," Arthur responded. "You had fun, didn't you?"

Feliciano gave the blond a shy smile and a nod of his head. "_Sì_!" he chirped. "You're... You're a lot nicer than I thought, Artù. I mean, you've always been polite, so I thought it was a little strange you'd be with my brother since, you know, he... he curses a lot."

Arthur laughed at how Feliciano stepped around the topic of Lovino's mannerisms as though he was afraid insulting his own brother and the Englishman's lover and thereby invoking the Devil's wrath. "He's a rude little prat, isn't he?" Arthur mused aloud, recalling his first impression of Lovino from seven years ago. "I suppose that only makes the two of us more alike. I might be polite, but it's only because of years of training and etiquette. Lovino and I have a rather poor temper, and that's putting it lightly. That might be how we manage to put up with each other after all of these years."

"You... really care for him, don't you?" Feliciano mused with a deliriously happy smile. "I'm really happy _Fratello_ has someone like you. He's never smiled so much before." The grin on his lips faded as another realisation dawned upon him. "If only there weren't so many problems right now... I... I heard him last night—the person named Mordred." The Italian phantom didn't notice how Arthur had frozen slightly at the mention of the name. Feliciano bit his lower lip, whispering softly, "He's like me, right? A ghost? Only... he's been dead longer, so he had more time to think. Do you... Do you think I'll end up like him—angry and bitter and—?"

"You won't," Arthur snapped coolly. "I won't let that happen."

Feliciano gave the Briton a weak smile. "Thanks, Artù."

"No," the blond protested, "it's my job."

A chill fell over the land, and the chattering of the children immediately ceased. Jia Long and Alfred dropped from the jungle gym, falling onto the pile of wood chips, while Neeraja helped stop Angelique and Matthew from further swinging. All five children scrambled over to Arthur and Feliciano, clasping their hands together and enacting a barrier to protect their father figure. In the meanwhile, Arthur remained seated on the bench with Feliciano glancing about wildly.

The Englishman's emeralds remained fixated upon a dark shadow as it ebbed and bobbed on the ground. The shadow pulled itself from the ground, becoming more three-dimensional, and lurked towards Arthur, growing larger and larger in size, until it stood before Arthur at a startling height of three meters. The shadows it cast over the five spirits and Arthur and Feliciano danced in a feral, wild manner. Just as the creature reached for the Demon King, the blond snapped his fingers, and a trail of blue flames licked up the entirety of its arm before engulfing it whole. Without turning to face Feliciano, Arthur barked at the Italian phantom, "Get back to the manor, and take the children with you!" Feliciano gave a startled nod and glided away from the scene with the five guardian spirits following after him as they made an exit within the barrier. At the same time, Arthur glowered at the creature in front of him. "Mordred sent you, didn't he?" Even though the shadow monster didn't respond, the blond sighed and remarked, "I won't have any sympathy. Let me purify you, poor pitiful creature."

Raising his hand with the palm facing the dying shadow monster, Arthur curled his fingers tightly together. At the same time, the flames around the shadow monster squeezed around its form just as tightly before dispersing entirely. The creature was gone without a single trace of its existence remaining. Before Arthur could relax, however, he pivoted on his heel, raising his hand just in time to halt another shadow from its progress just as it leapt to pounce on the Demon King, but his flames had not even swallowed—had not even _reached_—their target. Instead, a wisp of black engulfed the shadow monster, disappearing entirely. Beyond the black flames stood Alistair, a grave and solemn expression set upon his visage.

"How the bloody deuce did you get in here?" asked the Englishman curtly.

"Your laddies might be strong when it comes to magic, but they don't have ye beat, which includes Owain and me, too," retorted the Scotsman.

Another shadow charged from its hiding place underneath the bench where Arthur had sat. The two brothers raised their hands simultaneously, and black and blue flames danced together to devour the shadow monster.

"We need to talk," the fiery redhead declared shortly.

"I was just thinking the same thing," the stubborn blond responded brusquely.

"Your place then," Alistair suggested offhandedly.

"What other place could there be? Your estate in Edinburgh?" Arthur remarked sardonically.

At any rate, their priority was to leave the outside to seek shelter, or else Arthur would be open and susceptible to attacks. However, no matter where they go, in every corner lies a shadow. Mordred was bound to return for another assault on the Demon King's existence. Nevertheless, Arthur lowered the barrier his children had arranged for him and retreated with his oldest brother at his side. Upon reaching his manor within the heart of the City of London, Arthur automatically unlocked the door, but rather than playing the role of a gentleman and opening it wider for his brother to enter, Alistair gracefully kicked Arthur's arse into the front entrance, where the Demon King was then received by his five guardian spirits, Kiku, and the Vargas brothers. Feliciano and Lovino both shared an expression of concern, but the older Italian appeared more forlorn. In that instant, Arthur simply knew that Lovino possessed some sort of insight; otherwise, his Italian lover would have had complete faith in his return even if he worried (because Lovino always worried).

"This is only the beginning," Arthur announced shortly as he stormed into his living room. With a flick of his wrist, the locks on his door bolted, fastened, and latched themselves rightfully. The party followed after him as he gave out his orders, "Tell Kerberos, the Revenant Clan, the Incubi House, and the Vampire Coven to maintain their positions in case of attacks. Mordred has command over shadows, and the only way to defeat them is to purify the magic or absorb it completely. Make sure everyone has a magic user on their side. Additionally—" Once Arthur had arrived within the living room, Alistair clasped his larger hand onto his younger brother's shoulder. The blond haired demon angled his head to make eye contact with his brother, remarking, "What is it, Alistair?"

"It's time ye told everyone what you're planning, Arthur," Alistair seethed bitterly. "At first, the plan was fine. It appeared as a regular spread and search mission, but now you're just being stupid. Mordred made it perfectly clear whom his target is by now, but you're telling us to leave it alone? You'll handle it yourself, Arthur?"

A flood of silence washed over those in the living room—Arthur's family, his servants, and his fiancé and brother-in-law—as they awaited for the King's response to the Prince of Wrath. The blond did not reveal any change in expression as he spoke, confirming his brother's suspicions, "Yes, that is correct. I plan on handling this entire matter by myself. Nobody else is to be involved. This is my problem—not yours, Alistair, or anyone else's."

A dead weight fell upon the individuals, crushing them under a cold hush, as they either stared at the Demon King in astonishment or averted their gaze in repulsion. Lovino had done the former, and Alistair had gone with the latter choice, clenching his teeth and scowling all the while. Arthur nearly climbed up the stairs before he was stopped by a nonchalant, "King Arthur." Halting in his steps, he waited for Kaelin to speak. The young princess continued just as relentlessly as before, remarking, "You have an entire military, Your Majesty. Why not use it? What do you fear? Your Majesty King Arthur, with all due respect, this is not a battle that must be fought alone. Please use us, the Twenty-Four Knights of the Underworld, who have sworn to become your sword and shield."

"Your loyalty is appreciated, Princess Kaelin," Arthur responded shortly as he endeavoured to keep his voice calm and collected, "but any further service outside of your orders is unnecessary."

"Arthur," Alistair seethed, "I refuse to remain idle as my brother acts as bait. Do ye even understand the gravity of the situation? You'll be attacked from all sides, and you're telling me that I can't even do a damn thing about it?"

"Alistair..." Owain called softly, attempting to quell his older brother's foul mood, only to step down when the redhead glared at him with pure an utter irritation. The Prince of Sloth sighed and glanced at Arthur, commenting, "He has a point, Arthur. You can't handle all of the enemies by yourself on the Surface World. Tell us what's been bothering you."

"I don't have to," Arthur insisted stubbornly.

Seamus frowned. "Arthur, everyone is worried about you, and it's your bloody fault because of that!" the ginger haired boy exclaimed indignantly. "If you don't like it, then hurry up and explain yourself! What's the point of us being here if you won't let us help?"

"Yeah, Jerk Arthur!" Peter agreed adamantly though it was clear he did not have much of an idea about current events.

"Your plan to spread and search is nothing more than a plan to spread your men and keep them safe, isn't it?" Alistair concluded as he continued observing his brother's back, watching it stiffen and tense, unable to relax. "You underestimate us, Arthur."

"That's not it," the Demon King finally protested. His voice was levelled but quiet, and everyone had to strain their ears to hear him speak. "It's part of the reason though, but it's not the reason itself. If everyone spread out to 'search' for him, then Mordred would be under the impression that I would be distracted with hunting for him. It's a catalyst for his attacks. He would come after me, only me and me alone. I didn't expect him to go after... everyone about whom I care." Arthur angled his head to glance at Lovino, who had been silently watching the proceedings all of this time, unable to do anything either. "That's why I have to hurry and end this."

"Then let us help," Owain pushed gently. "We can do more than stand by and watch, Arthur. It's not going to be a repeat of the Battle of Camlann."

Once again, everyone stilled, and the atmosphere thickened, becoming heavier than ever before. Lovino's own heart stopped as Arthur pivoted on his heel to face everyone with cold, resolute eyes. "You don't know that," the blond told his older brother. "Anything could happen, and nobody knows what."

"Then we'll push things in our favour," someone spoke amongst heavy steps echoing against the wooden panels of the floor. Gilbert leaned against the wall separating the living room from the main entrance of the manor, crossing his arms and smirking mischievously at Arthur. His pack followed closely, and once everyone had stopped in place, Gilbert remarked, "I heard there was a need for some guard dogs."

"Gilbert!" Arthur cried. "What are you doing here? What about Hillingdon?"

"Natalia Arlovskaya, Yekaterina Braginskaya, and Vladimir Popescu of the Vampire Coven are handling it while Ivan and his three shivering minions are overseeing operations in Havering," Gilbert responded diligently before remarking, "but if I recall correctly, Alistair informed me that we were being kept away from the action to make it appear as though our king is unprotected."

"You can't be here!" Arthur exclaimed. "We have to keep up that appearance! That way, Mordred will target me! He controls the shadows, and the shadows know everything!"

"Then he knows what you're planning anyway!" Alistair argued. "Isn't it a little too suspicious to leave our beloved king and brother unprotected in the middle of a bloody _dangerous_ hunt? He must know that you're up to something, which is why he went after your fiancé last night! Then he struck when you were alone with only children and a spectre who barely knows up from down!"

Gilbert nodded in agreement. "He really is waiting when you're truly alone, Arthur," the albino confirmed, "so he can strike you without anyone else interfering—just as you wanted. Still, Mordred is a smart little shit, and he's probably learnt from past experiences that there's no way to take you down one on one—especially since you're the Demon King. That gives him one option in order to face you: take the King of the Underworld to the Surface World, where his powers are restrained, and isolate him from his knights to gain the upper hand. That's why he threatened you through approaching Lovino; it's his way to say 'no funny business.' At any rate, it's not a difficult task to accomplish once he manages to slip past security—which he did—considering how you're an honest king who doesn't want history to repeat itself. A repetition of the outcome is the last thing you want, Arthur, but the last thing everyone else wants is for you to be erased. That's why we have to counter Mordred, not tease him. You already let him set the stage, and you already let him have the first move. I'm sorry, but that's enough. Letting him do any more than that is just not awesome."

"Then what do you suggest we do?!" Arthur exclaimed impatiently. "You say we can't let him prance around, but I absolutely cannot let anyone else aside from me to face him in a match! He's a soul powerful enough to rival my brothers and me! He is a _black_ soul, just as rare as a _blue_ one and just as powerful! There is no other choice but to lead him to me! _I'm_ the one he wants to kill, so I can't risk anyone else putting their neck on the line either! We're keeping the casualties to a bare minimum, aren't we? Then this is the only way!"

"Calm the fuck down, you damn bastard!" Lovino shrieked, drawing all of the attention to him and startling everyone in the room. "I don't know how many times we have to say it over and over again, but you're not fucking alone, dammit! Stop trying to handle everything all by yourself, all at once, and listen to what your brothers and the albino mutt have to say! You don't have to be so scared about anyone dying because nobody is going to die! Trust your friends, trust your family, and—above all—trust in _me_! I said it before, right? We're going to be m-married, so don't bother keeping secrets from me, you sick bastard... Chigi..." Lovino began to shrink under everyone's gazes, backing into the shadows, before the strongest in the room began to notice something odd.

The shadow under Lovino's feet kept growing larger and larger—gradually, but certainly—and Arthur, Alistair, Owain, Gilbert, Yao, and Kiku were eyeing it suspiciously. The moment it shot from its position on the floor, Arthur raced towards Lovino, yanking his Italian lover by the wrist and into his arms, while Gilbert charged at the shadow. The werewolves leapt onto the fiend in their canine forms but simply phased through the other side, sliding on the wooden panels of Arthur's manor. The demons immediately surrounded the creature as Yao shifted into his dragon form, a serpentine creature coiling around Arthur's five guardian spirits. The lights within the room reflected off his scales of blue and white porcelain while his claws of polished jade attempted to sink into the fiend's flesh only to touch nothing. Yao relinquished his attacks and instead focused on protecting the children. At the same time, Kiku unveiled all nine of his tails and motioned for Feliciano to step back.

"I've told you before," Arthur reminded his allies as he ushered Lovino to stand behind him, "that these shadows can only be purified or be absorbed. It's only magic energy that needs to be extinguished in one manner or another." The King snapped his fingers, engulfing the creature in a cover of blue flames, and to hasten the eradication of the shadow monster, Owain and Alistair contributed with their magic as well. "Mordred doesn't want anyone else to interfere, and neither do I."

"_Arthur_!" Lovino protested.

The blond gave his lover a wry smile. "However, a king must also live for his people, and his people have spoken—you wankers—all of you," Arthur remarked dryly. Retreating into the living room, the Englishman collapsed onto the sofa once the fiend was entirely incinerated. Waving his hand almost leisurely, Arthur declared, "All right, all right! Have at it! What have you got?" The blond crossed his arms and raised a thick eyebrow as he stared expectantly at Gilbert and Alistair.

"Well, if we're fighting shadows," Gilbert suggested with a cheeky grin, "what better way to confront them than with those who lurk and live in the shadows? Those vampires can actually be useful for once, and don't get me started on those exorcists who thrive on hunting shadows."

Arthur chuckled lowly. "What is this? A game of tag? We're 'it' now?"

Gilbert crowed with laughter, barking, "There's nothing more thrilling than a game of tag, Art!"

* * *

"What the hell?" Lovino mumbled under his breath as he ripped another strip of thin, rectangular paper. Crumbling the paper in his hands, the brunet tossed the paper ball into the waste basket nearby. Arthur hid his amused smile behind the rim of his teacup as he brought it to his lips for another sip of his Earl Grey. "How the fuck is it _this_ hard?" the Italian grumbled as he raked a hand through his hair in distress. At the future consort's current distress, Yao merely raised an eyebrow, noting to himself that Lovino was much more willing to learn after yelling at the top of his lungs at Arthur since the Italian now had a reason of sorts. The Chinese familiar kept that—the fact that Lovino was more intrinsically motivated than extrinsically—in mind for their next lesson. Right now, the consort to-be was entirely focused on becoming a person in whom people could trust—namely Arthur and his subjects.

"You're trying to do a protection ward, aren't you?" Arthur inquired from his seat across from Lovino. When he received a frustrated grunt as a reply, the blond only chuckled as he debated giving advice to his lover. He decided otherwise, seeing that in his foul mood Lovino would most likely not be able to grasp any words of logic and reason. Rather, he took matters into his own hands. "Here," the Englishman spoke up, disturbing Lovino's silence and breaking his concentration, as he set down his teacup on his saucer.

Navigating around the desk, Arthur then reached over Lovino's shoulder and grasped the quill from Lovino's hand. He began to trace a number of elegant strokes that overlapped and intersected one another with an expert hand. Once he was done, the Briton dropped the pen back into Lovino's hand just as the protection ward flashed once with a faint blue glow, accepting the magic that flowed into the rune, and immediately burnt the paper after Lovino was done studying his work. "You can't simply draw the rune. There's a certain delicacy to it—like an art," Arthur explained shortly.

Lovino snorted at the analogy, glaring pointedly at his fiancé, as he remarked, "Do I look like a fucking artist to you? My brother was the one who went to an art college—not me."

Arthur rolled his eyes and countered, "I beg to differ, my dear. You're a trained, experienced barista and pâtissier, aren't you? Then you would understand that there are certain steps you would have to take in order to create a useful rune, and each step carries its own weight as well. Some strokes tend to be lighter and finer than others while others are heavier and thicker. You can also think of it as a kind of code that happens to be extremely case sensitive." He gestured for Lovino to start again on another sheet of paper, and the brunet obliged hesitantly.

The Italian pulled another fresh sheet from the stack beside him, placing the thin white surface in front of him, and nearly began another rune until his hand halted in mid-air upon hearing Arthur tut. His eyebrow twitched in mild irritation and aggravation, but it was quickly wiped away with a flood of erratic emotions—from apprehension to euphoria to pure and utter anticipation—as Arthur took Lovino's hand within his own, guiding the olive hands along the paper tentatively and tenderly. "Like this," the Englishman whispered into Lovino's ear as he lightly brushed the tip of the quill against the paper. The point barely ghosted the surface, leaving a fine line hardly a millimetre thick, before it was joined by other thicker, heavier lines that flowed gracefully against the page. The ink overlapped and joined together like streams of river water carrying a magic potential. Lifting the pen from the page, Lovino watched as his rune now shone with the same faint blue glow... Only this time, for one inexplicable reason or another, it seemed brighter than the one Arthur had drawn by himself. "Just like that," the blond praised Lovino shortly, pressing a chaste kiss against his temple. "Now try it yourself, spitfire."

Arthur then retracted his hand and gave the brunet an encouraging smile hidden from Yao's prying eyes. The Chinese dragon was instead fixated on Lovino's crafting hand as stroke after stoke was perfected elegantly in a matter of seconds. The elder couldn't help but blink a few times in obvious scepticism when Lovino's latest rune was glowing just as it had when Arthur had guided his hand. "Wow, you actually did it," Yao commented with surprise completely evident in his tone—not bothering to hide or mask the blatancy of his emotions—whilst blinking a few more times as though to affirm that it was not simply a trick of his eyes. Arthur rolled his eyes in response while Lovino snarled vehemently and maliciously, thinking, What a bastard.

"Of course, he did!" Arthur exclaimed indignantly. "He's Romulus Vargas' grandson, the man who could see a person's soul despite not being a demon! Lovino has untapped potential within him, I can tell, and it's not because of the traces of my blood flowing through his veins either or the fact that we're a matching pair!"

"All right, all right!" Yao cried, raising his hands in defence and surrender. "I get it! Your fiancé isn't as dumb as he looks!" Arthur glared spitefully at the elder, who was grumbling under his breath, and Lovino then ripped up his latest work and crumbled it into a ball to chuck it at the dragon's head. Yao hissed at the consort to-be, and Arthur growled at the Scribe. "Anyway," Yao continued, "I'll be leaving now to help Kiku with the preparations for the defence. Keep practising, _Prince Lovino_." The Chinese dragon smirked in success as Lovino's cheeks reddened with embarrassment, unused to such a title.

"It's a good thing you've managed to make basic protection wards," Arthur told Lovino, taking the Italian's hand within his own, with a weak smile on his lips. "It's somewhat amateurish, yes, but it can defend against most evil spirits. The more advanced of protection wards can even defend against the strongest of daemons—including me." Arthur raised his injured hand to prove his point.

A sense of dread and trepidation filled Lovino as he asked in a low, soft voice haunted by his terrors and fears, "Is that how strong he is, that Mordred bastard?"

"He was a Druid with some supernatural abilities when he was alive," Arthur informed just as quietly, "so I have to admit that, yes, he is quite strong. He was amongst the strongest of men centuries ago, and his soul is poisoned with hatred which his mother and aunt had supplied him in plentiful dosages. As long as he is fuelled by that hatred, he will always fight and challenge me."

Lovino inhaled sharply, whispering, "Aside from Camlann, this isn't the first time, is it? That you've had to fight him?"

Arthur chuckled bitterly, remarking, "Grudges last quite a long time. You can even ask Kiku; he probably knows about them the best since nine-tailed foxes of Japan can definitely hold long-lasting grudges. The other times, he hadn't even managed to get out of Hell."

"What was different this time?" Lovino inquired dubiously. "Did he get stronger?"

"Maybe," Arthur responded vaguely with a casual shrug. "That, or the sentries lowered their guards. There are all sorts of possibilities. It's most likely that he's figured out the guards since he's so sharp, and he's been in Hell for the longest of times as well. Most sinners are there for cleansing to purify their souls—since it's a sort of process, you see—and then they're returned to the River Vitae for a new start with a new name attached to their soul and everything—an entirely clean slate. There are a few cases who are damned for all of eternity, however, and they end up on death row. It's rare, and usually the soul is so dangerous that they are kept for observation or erasure. Mordred was one of those souls."

"A black soul," Lovino echoed from the depths of his memories. "A while ago, you said he was poisoned by some weird, abnormal miasma. You're saying that it's the hatred he has for you?"

"That's the only answer I have," Arthur confessed, fiddling with his hands. Upon a closer glance, Lovino noticed how distraught the blond truly was with current events and decided to confront his lover once and for all.

"What do you really think, Arthur?" Lovino pushed gently.

"What do _I_ think?" the Briton repeated incredulously, raising one of his prominent eyebrows. A silence passed briefly between the two of them before Arthur heaved a great sigh from his chest as though to relieve some of the weight from his shoulders. Crossing his arms against the surface of the table, he leaned forward and stared into nothingness. His normally crystal clear emeralds were dulled and cloudy, opaque and oppressed, as he spoke, "I think that he doesn't want to reborn until he's done with me. People think he might be reborn as demon to suit his black soul, but I don't think he's truly evil at heart. All he has ever known since he was to overthrow King Arthur Pendragon from his throne in the Kingdom of Camelot. Those were his mother and aunt's feelings—not his. I think that he has never truly thought for himself. He has been taught and instructed how to think and how to feel, and the aftermath of that was a great loss of the lives of brilliant, valiant men. My 'sisters' were manipulative women—true enchantresses of their kind."

"They signed their names or—or made contracts?" the Italian asked curiously.

Arthur laughed heartily and remarked amusedly, "You don't need either to be a true witch at heart, Lovino—to be a conniving, sly, crafty little wench."

"Oh, I see..." Heat surged to Lovino's cheeks before gradually flushing the entirety of his face red with embarrassment. A slight pout was curved onto his lips before he inquired more gravely and solemnly than any of his previous questions, "How can we get him to stop?"

"The same way we help Feliciano," Arthur responded genuinely and whole-heartedly. "We help him pass onto the next life."

Lovino's heart stilled immediately as he gaped at his lover incredulously with pure and utter disbelief plastered onto his facial expression. "Are you _crazy_?!" he snapped instantaneously without so much of a beat of hesitation,. "No, don't fucking answer that, you—you—you _bastardo idiota_! I know you were fucking batshit insane from the first moment I met you, dammit! What the hell do you think you're trying to do by _helping the_ _enemy_? He wants you _dead_,you damn moron! You said so yourself that the only thing he wants is for you to be done—_finito, deceduto, morto_! _Io non ti capisco_!" Panting violently, Lovino glared heatedly at Arthur, only to see that the blond was completely unaffected by his outburst. Perhaps he had already expected such a response. The anger faded from Lovino's smaller frame as his eyes softened and itched with lukewarm tears. Blinking them away, the Italian reached out for his British lover. "_Arthur_," he pleaded, "_cosa stai pensando_? You're not really going to..." _die_ "...right? Arthur, I'm... I'm not the smartest bastard around, so I don't get it if you talk like that."

Arthur accepted Lovino's embrace, pulling the Italian closer, as he rested his head of mousy blond hair against Lovino's middle. The brunet weaved his fingers through the unruly locks and bent over to press a kiss atop Arthur's head. "I won't kill myself, spitfire," Arthur assured softly. "I promise you that. You don't have to worry about me."

"Damn straight," Lovino grumbled. "I'll make a protection ward for you against you if it comes down to it."

The Englishman chortled lowly. "That would be very much appreciated, spitfire." As Arthur raised his head, Lovino found himself staring into endless pools of emeralds. "My beautiful, darling little spitfire," the blond exhaled. His breath ghosted Lovino's lips as they leaned closer towards one another. His deathly pale lips brushed over his lover's in a fleeting, chaste kiss before swallowing them whole in a passion Lovino could only describe as desperate for closure and comfort. The Italian relented to Arthur's touches, settling atop of the Briton, and wrapped his arms loosely around his neck before tightening his hold, pulling him closer than ever before.

Later that night, Arthur left for his hunt with his brothers and his "dogs" as planned during Gilbert's arrival, but before the Englishman even stepped out of the house, Lovino made sure to slip a strip of paper into the breast pocket of his dark trench coat during the time Arthur was in a meeting with the other knights participating in the hunt. Kicking off his shoes, Lovino crawled underneath the covers of his bed now that Arthur was gone. His lover had forced him to remain at the manor to oversee the rest of the household, which included the two oriental familiars, the five guardian spirits as well as the two demon children, and his phantasmal brother, with a rather lame excuse as his reasoning. Arthur had insisted that it would be practice for supervising an entire castle—or even an entire realm—while he would be away. After all, a prince consort would need to know how to run one hierarchy or another in the absence of the king.

Nevertheless, tucked underneath his covers, Lovino had a sudden epiphany that the bed was much too vast for one individual. Turning on his side, the Italian closed his eyes and coincidentally inhaled the lingering scent remaining in the sheets. It was a mildly strange yet pleasant aroma consisting of a blend between his BVLGARI cologne and the mixture of nature that clung to Arthur's body—rose petals, herbal and tea leaves, and a trace of rum. The blond never did take well to wearing fragrances, but that was fine with Lovino by now. He had grown fond of Arthur's scent since it reminded him of the comfort of home. Even more so, he had grown fond of sharing his warmth with the seemingly cold-blooded (in a literal context) demon. Now that Arthur wasn't here, Lovino realised how lonely this big room really is—or, rather, how lonely he actually felt.

"Well, is this not a familiar scene?" asked a shadow from one of the corners of the bedroom in a most malicious tone. It peeled itself from the floor, morphing into the three-dimensional figure of a dark young man. The shadow dissipated particle after particle to reveal Mordred's fairly tanned skin, giving way to his brown hair and green eyes, forming the dark metal of his armour instead. "Queen Guinevere is left alone in her big and lonely castle whilst her husband is away to stain his sword in the blood of fallen soldiers, and when she is defenceless, a serpent strikes fear into her heart. Afterwards, she flees from her throne to seek shelter within the Tower of London."

"What the hell are you trying to say, sneaky bastard?" Lovino hissed through his teeth, clenching his jaw tightly and narrowing his eyes at the newly arrived spectre. From the looks of it, Lovino could assume that Mordred wasn't here looking for a fight. His motives laid elsewhere. Considering the way he was speaking, he was plotting something—the sly bastard—to uproot Lovino and his faith and trust in Arthur.

Mordred was smart, Lovino had to admit that, give him some credit for it, but years of dealing with the Mafia left Lovino somewhat cunning as well. Even though Lovino wasn't sure if he could win against someone who was already dead, he had more of a chance when it came to bullshitting than when it came down to psychic or supernatural abilities. It was clear from his first adventure that he was no daemon, and even now he was fully aware that he was nothing but a human—ageless and immortal—but a human, nonetheless. Other than the Sight and a few measly protection wards, there wasn't much he could do, and it honestly pissed him off. If he could have, he would have drove Mordred away from this damn manor already—away from him and away from Arthur.

"Is it not obvious?" Mordred inquired mockingly and maliciously, hissing like a venomous snake, whose words dripped off his tongue like acidic poison attempting to burn into Lovino's confidence and ego in order to melt away all of his security. "Is history not repeating itself? People—not just humans—but daemons and spirits as well—will continuously make mistakes. Sometimes, they repeat the same mistake over and over again because they have failed to learn from prior experience or because they have simply forgotten. Silly, is it not? But it is true."

"You're saying that the Battle of Camlann will happen all over again?" Lovino assumed hesitantly. He endeavoured to prevent the dread from seeping into his voice, but he feared that Mordred already sensed his apprehension and anxiety as they frayed his nerves little by little. Dark sensations sparked throughout his body, and he itched to throw off the covers and seek Arthur's company. He eyed Mordred suspiciously, reaching once more to fetch Carwennan from underneath his pillow. He had retrieved the sacred ancient weapon the morning after Mordred's first arrival from the corner into which the dark knight had kicked it. He managed to trick him once, but he wasn't too sure about a second time. It was all he had on him though. Arthur trusted him enough to give Carwennan to him, so he would use it.

"Not just the Battle of Camlann," Mordred responded dryly, rolling his eyes. "Dost thou not see the same patterns? It's as clear as day. I do not know why thou hast been reborn into the body of a man, but 'tis certain that thy soul is that of Queen Guinevere's. 'Tis ludicrous that Uncle would have fallen for the same wench twice, but perhaps he did not fall for thee—only thy soul, the same soul as that of Queen Guinevere."

The Druid stepped closer to him, and Lovino's grip tightened around Carwennan's white hilt. He clenched his jaw, gritting his teeth, tensing his body, as Mordred stepped closer to him. He wouldn't fall for that bullshit; he _couldn't._ Arthur had already made it clear seven years ago that Lovino was more than a shell containing the soul, Romano. It took nearly an entire week or two, but Arthur had acknowledged him as a person. Therefore, it would take more than a few upsetting words to uproot Lovino's confidence in his fiancé. Nevertheless, Mordred was still awfully close to touching one of his more sensitive insecurities. Even though he was confident in Arthur's feelings, he was more concerned with how he compared as a person to Arthur's former queen and his predecessor. At the same time, a part of him was truly annoyed, however, with Mordred's ignorance of the entire situation. The bastard wholly believed that current circumstances—or maybe even the entire universe—revolved around him, didn't he? He was convinced that he had control of the situation, but, to be honest, Lovino wasn't sure of how much control the sneaky bastard had either—even with such outdated information regarding Arthur's love life.

"That is why I shall skip over proposing to thee, persuading thee to join my side, and instead—" That very instant, his hand lashed out to grab hold of Lovino's hair as a cruel, maniac grin took over his lips. A psychotic spark glinted in his eyes with an inane, delirious glee that intensified upon hearing Lovino's grimace and hisses of pain. "—I shall move unto crumbling King Arthur's morale."

Before Mordred could throw him onto the ground just as he had done to Queen Guinevere thousands of years ago, flinging her from her throne like a flightless bird descending from its perch, Lovino swiftly swung his arm towards Mordred, bearing the blade's point at his chest. However, instead of sinking into flesh, the blade pierced nothing but air. It was as though Mordred was not even there—at least not physically. Raising his terrified eyes of diluted hazel, Lovino met with Mordred's mortifying smirk, boasting with ego, swelling with arrogance, as the Druid shoved him onto the ground.

"Hast thou forgotten? I am but a phantom—just like thy dead brother. Thou cannot touch me," Mordred remarked tauntingly.

Lovino gawked from the floor, staring upwards in sheer terror at the ghost in front of him, as he slowly became aware of the phantom's abilities. He recalled the strange activities Feliciano was capable of pulling whenever his emotions fluctuated wildly that caused his surroundings to become just as unstable. However, this spectre was much more horrifying; unlike Feliciano, he could perfectly control and manipulate his surroundings. Being a mere human, Lovino was incapable of sending him away. He couldn't cause him physical harm, and he had no materials for a protection ward the way he was now—with only a sacred dagger.

In the midst of his panic, he had nearly forgotten Carwennan's capabilities.

The reason why Mordred hadn't attacked him while he was fearful for his life was because Mordred was unable to see him due to Carwennan's shrouding effect. Unlike Lovino's grandfather or any living demon, the Druid was not capable of seeing or sensing souls. He relied on his own five senses just as much as Lovino, and he was waiting for the Italian to make a move. Forcing himself to remain eerily silent, a smirk curved onto Lovino's lips as he pulled the blade closer to his chest. If the sneaky bastard was waiting for a counter-attack, then Lovino was going to take his chances to act first and catch him off-guard in a pre-emptive strike.

Quietly pushing himself onto his bare feet, Lovino crept towards the door and dug the tip of his blade into the surface.

Hopefully, Arthur wouldn't get too pissed off about this.

In one rapid motion, the brunet completed the first stroke of his protection ward, effectively drawing Mordred's attention. The phantom snapped his gaze towards Lovino, but the Italian already managed to draw a few more lines, finishing the rune, which now glowed with a faint blue light.

"Whatever spirit it seals in, stays in. Whatever spirit it keeps out, stays out," Lovino recalled as his smirk lingered on his lips, dancing tauntingly and mockingly. "It's just you and me, you fucking creepy bastard, until someone else opens this damn door."

Dammit, he really hoped Arthur would get his ass over here in time. Lovino wasn't sure how he could hold him at bay—much less how long. He didn't have any purifying salt, and he wasn't sure if he could slip over to Arthur's desk to pull out a sheet of paper and pen. On top of that, he wasn't sure if he could discreetly make another rune now that Mordred knows he was capable of pulling tricks out of his ass as he went along with this shit. Biting his tongue, Lovino contemplated the worst of what could happen if he tried. On the very tip of his toes, the Italian inched towards his lover's personal desk in the corner of the room, faintly aware of the softest of sounds he could possibly make. Reaching for the pad already set on the desk, Lovino gingerly slipped a pen between his fingers and nearly traced a defensive rune to ward off any possibility of oncoming attacks from the dark phantom.

Unfortunately, just as soon as the pen settled between his fingers, Mordred faded into the shadows and immediately reappeared in front of Lovino, slamming the pen back onto the surface of the desk. With an incredulous smirk on his lips, mortifying and horrifying Lovino, the Druid remarked, "I told thee that I was no different from thy brother—but only in form. I was a Druid when I was alive; I am an existence similar to that of a warlock. I can control and manipulate the shadows in which I lurk. I can be here and there and many places all at once. Who is to say that I am not confronting my dear Uncle Arthur as we speak?"

"_Fratello_!" Feliciano cried from outside the door in a voice entirely filled with concern. "What's happening, _Fratello_?" It would appear that the commotion had alerted his brother. Lovino was vaguely aware that Feliciano had been wandering the halls earlier; he always had from the start—unable to sleep as he was a mere spirit without even a physical body. It was typical of him to roam the halls of Arthur's manor when he was unable to sleep. "Why can't I come inside? This is weird, _Fratello_!"

"Feliciano-san, please step away from the door!"

"What the hell do you want, you sick bastard?" Lovino seethed dangerously as his hazel eyes occupied a cold glint—not that Mordred could see—that hid the guilt he felt towards his brother. Additionally, it served another purpose than to threaten the spectre in front of him. It also masked the terror that taunted and haunted and daunted him. A burst of fear imploded within his being, surging through his veins, carrying a sense of foreboding and forlorn throughout every inch of his body that the Italian could not forego. This feud ran deeper than he had expected. Now he realised that, with only twenty-six years of living, he could not understand over a thousand years' worth of hatred and vengeance. Even then it was unnatural—like the miasma about which Arthur spoke... No, Lovino corrected himself, it _was_ the miasma Arthur had been talking about. Arthur was right. Mordred's soul was poisoned—blackened to a pitch darkness—because of this irregularity. Nobody could loathe someone to that extent; it was too exhausting. However, Mordred was the perfect anomaly of that observation. He simply did not make sense. "What the hell is the point in talking to me? What business do you have with Arthur? Why the hell do you have to cause such a big damn scene?"

"Why, all I am doing is playing tag—shadow tag, if thou pleases—just like what Uncle wanted by chasing me down with his hunting dogs," Mordred responded icily, "and I have the advantage."

"That's not what I'm fucking talking about, and you know it," Lovino snapped, growing bolder than ever before. "Why are you doing this? If it's because you hate him, then why do you hate him? If it is because he stole your throne when you were alive, then what does it matter? Centuries have already passed. If it's because of pride, then you are a fool." Without a moment of hesitation, Lovino remarked, "All men are fucking morons, but you are the biggest dumbshit I have ever met."

Mordred's eyes narrowed. "Thou art not as eloquent as I have remembered thee to be," he grumbled under his breath. "Queen Guinevere would have been more elegant and sophisticated in her selection of words."

"Sorry to disappoint, but he's not Gwen."

Mordred and Lovino's head snapped to the open window, where they found Arthur seated at the sill. His stony emeralds dug into Mordred's being with a grave, grim expression as though to peel off his flesh—if the spectre had any at all. There were traces of resentment and repulsion well hidden in Arthur's glowing emeralds, but Lovino could see it all—every little bit of the storm brewing within the Demon King—as the Briton fought with only himself and his past. Stepping from the darkness of the room were the four members of Kerberos in their canine form. A hellhound with a white fur coat and crimson eyes approached Mordred in a stalking manner as though he was circling his prey, sizing him up.

"And I sure as bloody hell did not propose to him because he's anything like Gwen. If anything, he is her exact opposite," Arthur remarked dryly. Propelling himself from the ledge, the mousy blond haired Englishman stepped into his bedroom. Before Mordred could leap at his chance of an escape, Arthur snapped his fingers, shutting the window instantaneously and sealing his actions with a rune that matched the one Lovino had carved onto the door. "Of course, I doubt that is for what you've came here." Pressing a hand against his chest, Arthur smirked wryly—though Lovino was probably the only one who could see the remorse in his eyes—as he remarked, "It's me whom you want, is it not? I'm the one you're after."


	7. Chapter 6

**VI: The Dead King**

Mordred tensed upon sighting the demon whom he once called his uncle. The intensity of those emerald jewels had not since dulled since his time; if anything, they might have been gleaming brighter than before. The vibrancy they contained was almost unnatural—nay, not simply unnatural, but _supernatural—_and that was all he needed to confirm that Arthur's existence was otherworldly and entirely ethereal. Years—decades, centuries, a millennia—ago in Hell he had heard the rumours of a new king named Arthur. At first, he had thought of it as merely a cruel joke these supernatural entities were playing in his afterlife, but as time passed, his suspicions grew greater and stronger than ever before—that this Demon King Arthur was the same King Arthur who had supposedly stolen the throne to Camelot. All he had wanted to do then was simply to confirm these suspicions of him, and once they were confirmed, he had wanted to exact revenge from him—for the sake of his dear Aunt Morgana, otherwise known to others as Morgan le Fay, and for his mother, Morgause—for the sake of his followers who had all fallen in battle—for the sake of his throne and those who had believed in him.

Now, however, he was frozen with fear as he stared into the endless emerald pools overflowing with powerful emotions leaving him disturbed and perturbed in their wake. How could he be _afraid _of King Arthur? He was a phantom that existed for over a thousand years! There should be nothing that frightened _him_ of all beings! Nonetheless, a voice in his head reminded him spitefully, King Arthur has existed for far much longer, and regal he remains. He was King of the Dead, King of the Demons, King of the Underworld. A king he stays. Long live His Infernal Majesty, Mordred thought miserably, King Arthur Pendragon Kirkland!

A devil, Mordred can see that now—a devil in name and in person—but who was to say that even the Devil could not be slain? Who was to say that the Devil could not cry? That he could not fill with tears and burst with an onslaught of emotion, stirring and decimating all in its path? King Arthur was still King Arthur, Mordred's uncle who was supposed to have died in battle, but, nay, he lived in spite of his fatal wounds and cursed with immortality. And Mordred? He was damned. How unfair! How unjust! The bastard king was just as much of a sinner as he was!

A threatening snarl broke Mordred away from his thoughts, snapping his attention to one of the four hellhounds surrounding him in this room—the one with the white coat and red eyes. He gave he beast a wry grin, questioning how it could even maul him when he had no physical body, before turning his attention to his uncle. "Certainly," he responded to Arthur's earlier question, "I wish to challenge thee once again, Uncle, but this time victory shall belong to me. The outcome of Camlann shall be reversed!"

Arthur's eyes darkened considerably as he snapped, "The Battle of Camlann shall never again be repeated, Mordred! It was far too grievous a battle! I refuse to exhaust my men for your petty revenge! If you wish to fight me, then fight me! Leave everyone else out of this pathetic scheme of yours if it is my blood for which you thirst!"

"Uncle, dost thou not understand either?" Mordred crooned in a sickeningly sweet manner. "It is not simply victory that I pursue; it is thy complete decimation that I seek!" He gestured towards Lovino's general direction since Arthur's Italian lover was still hiding within Carwennan's shroud. "Bringing harm to thy lover, destroying thy family, crushing thy knights—'tis all the more disastrous than simply defeating thee, Uncle. Thou shalt taste an entire millennia and six centuries of long, everlasting suffering as I have burnt in the Inferno, and at long last shalt thou descend from thy throne—thy crown falling from thy head—at the mercy of my shadows."

Arthur's eyes narrowed at the phantom, weary and suspicious, as he spoke again, "Mordred, why do you go through all of this trouble? It is inconceivable in itself. The Arthurian era is long over. Camelot no longer exists."

"And whose fault is that?!" roared the dark spectre. At the sudden spike, a sharp increase in volume, the glass window cracked, the curtains flinging here and there, and miscellaneous items toppled from their places. Books clattered from their shelves, papers flew off the desk, and chairs collapsed as though from the force of the wind that grew stronger and stronger still within the confinement of Arthur and Lovino's bed chambers. "Uncle, thou had failed as a king! Had thou never began thy conquest, then Camelot would have still existed to this day!"

"Enough!" Arthur cried, silencing Mordred with a stern glare. The whirling wind slowed to a halt as Arthur remained still and gathered all of the attention within the room. "You are lost within your own fantasies, Mordred. Whether it could have or would have happened matters little; it is already in the past—where you belong, you bloody ghost. Give up on this insolent game of yours. Here, there is no Morgan le Fay or Morgause or anyone else to support your claims on the throne and Kingdom of Camelot. Here, there is nobody for you to appease and appeal. Mordred, you belong in the pages of history—not the present—lest you are to be reborn, and if you turn back now, then I can grant that to you—"

"Ha!" Mordred crowed with laughter. "I have my own pride, Uncle. If thou canst defeat me, then thou shalt have thy way."

"Then how will you escape from here—a sealed room?" Arthur retorted, raising a thick eyebrow, as he gestured to the window he had resealed the very moment he crept into his and Lovino's bedroom. "Not even the strongest of spirits can escape them, so what makes you think that you are capable of carrying out your plans?"

Mordred cast a knowing glance towards Lovino and towards the werewolves with a sly smirk dancing teasingly on his lips as though he was privy to their own secrets. "Why, Uncle," the dark phantom mused, "not everyone can abstain like thyself. Werewolves must feed on flesh, and humans must feast in order to continue to survive. Whilst thou can devour souls like the damnedest demon thou art every blue moon, thy very much human lover can hardly last a few days—just like these forsaken beasts." Mordred motioned to the door engraved with the protection ward and remarked, "The moment that door opens, the magic will be annulled. As a spirit, I may be able to last here for centuries to come, but thy lover and thy dogs shall starve to death. Is that what thou desires?"

Arthur frowned as Mordred easily revealed the weakness in their trap. The idea was to corner the black soul and transport him back to Hell. However, since he was not at all willing, the task at hand would be much more difficult. Mordred would resist capture to the ends of the earth at this rate, and that meant Arthur had no choice but to eradicate him in that very instant. The aspect brought a foul taste into his mouth, but before he could even raise a hand against his former nephew, the phantom faded into the shadows. Arthur scowled. It would be a simple matter to erase a soul in front of him, but the Briton was not willing to burn down the entirety of his manor in order to search for the bloody idiotic wanker. After all, how could one possibly incinerate a mere shadow?

Clenching his fist, the Englishman contemplated his options before realising there was none. He would have to starve his friends and lover in order to wait for Mordred to reveal himself from behind the shadows, or he would let Mordred have his way—yet again, he thought bitterly—and continue this pathetic game of chase. Gilbert had told him once many years ago that a hunt was not always easy. Sometimes it would drag on for days or weeks—sometimes even months—and sometimes the mortalities would increase either steadily or rapidly. Sometimes it would bring travesties in its wake, and now that he was playing with his mortal foe, Arthur understood that more compromises would have to be made in order to capture Mordred for good. They couldn't possibly win with a half-arsed plan like this. They would have to play Mordred's game of destruction and decimation.

Perhaps this time as well he could not save his poor nephew from a lifetime past. Clenching his fist and gritting his teeth, Arthur then approached the glass window before throwing it open. Lovino, Gilbert, and the others gaped at him with shock and surprise evident in their features before recoiling when a burst of wind swept across the room and out of the window. Arthur grunted in disdain before slamming the window shut, shattering the glass entirely. "_Fuck!_" he hissed sharply, causing the others in the room to wince at how their normally composed king had lost his temper. "God-fucking-dammit! Why the bloody hell is nothing going right?"

"Arthur..." Lovino called out softly, sheathing Carwennan into its scabbard, as he approached his lover. He reached out for the blond's arm, but before he could even make contact with Arthur, the Englishman was already shrinking away from Lovino's touch as though the blond believed that he was possible of harming his Italian lover. Lovino bit his tongue, refraining from speaking any more comforting words, since he knew the meaning would be lost in the darkness of the room upon falling on deaf ears. Rather, there would be no meaning to his words, and Lovino knew that he couldn't afford to make empty promises about the future to Arthur because the brunet knew that the Briton would easily read through him. The Italian was transparent. Not only that, but it was quite obvious he knew little about the situation at hand. Instead, he glared at the werewolves, silently telling them to leave the two lovers alone, and once they were left to their own devices, Lovino settled next to Arthur's still body. "Tell me everything that you're thinking right now because I can't follow what the hell's going on in your head, dammit." When Arthur didn't respond, allowing a silence to sweep into the room, the Lovino could clearly hear his younger brother being comforted together by Ludwig and Kiku. Crossing his arms, the older of the two Vargas brothers arched an eyebrow and commented, "He's playing you like a game."

"And that's all that this may be to him," Arthur mused glumly, "a bloody terrible, God awful game." He ran his hand through his unruly blond locks, confessing to his lover, "He wants to destroy me, or so he says. I don't think that's what he wants."

"Then what else is there?"

"He's lonely," Arthur muttered under his breath. "He's always been lonely."

Lovino snorted and grumbled, "So what do you want us to do? Get him a dog?"

The Briton chortled softly and shook his head lightly. "If we did, all it would ever do is bark at him. They don't take kindly to supernatural entities—and that includes disembodied souls, especially one as dark and tainted as his," he responded wholeheartedly in spite of the sarcasm behind Lovino's words. Keeping his emerald gaze focused on the ground, he mentioned, "I don't know how to go about this, honestly. I never was too sure about what to do with Mordred—even all of those centuries ago. I never wanted to go to war, and I never wanted to build a kingdom upon a field of corpses. I never wanted any of that... but it happened."

"And you don't want it to happen again," Lovino concluded.

"Naturally," Arthur answered brusquely.

"History repeats itself," the Italian recalled as he thought back to his conversation with Mordred. "It would seem that he's trying to do that. It would explain why he approached me."

"Because you're my lover," Arthur confirmed almost incredulously, "and because he's trying to obliterate everything and everyone I treasure... It really does feel like time is repeating itself here. He's tried to harm you as he has harmed Gwen, and then I have brought Twenty-Four Knights with me just as I had back then. The only thing I'm missing is a bloody army—or maybe I already have one." Arthur tugged on the ends of his blond strands as he thought aloud. "That tragedy—that disaster—should never be repeated. I would think that he felt the same way, but who knows?" The Englishman sighed again and glanced at Lovino. "Did he say anything to you?"

"Nothing in particular," Lovino responded gruffly as he shortly recalled Mordred's continuous mentions of Guinevere. He pushed the memory aside. It really wasn't anything important; Arthur didn't need to know about that crap. "Just some stupid shit."

"Like what?"

"Stupid shit is stupid shit," the brunet insisted, narrowing his eyes at Arthur. "Don't worry about it, bastard."

Arthur cracked a smile as though he understood and _knew—_dammit, Lovino thought—what was going on in his Italian lover's mind. "Now that I think about it," the blond pondered out loud, "you're quite different from Guinevere. I don't know why Mordred thought about approaching you the same way he had with Gwen. You're two entirely different people."

Lovino's heart stilled for a moment as he stared into Arthur's visage, attempting to discern and distinguish any change in expression, trying to determine the reason Arthur brought up his former wife and queen. There was nothing in his expression. His eyes were as distant as ever; it was the same as always whenever he was lost in his thoughts, in his memories, even in his troubles. Assuming a quieter voice, the Italian asked of his lover, "How so? I really hate being compared, you bastard, so hurry up and get this off your chest. That way, I can be at peace, dammit."

"Guinevere was the charming and intelligent type of woman. She never lost her temper and had a great deal of patience. You, on the other hand..." Arthur faltered in his words to give his lover a mischievous grin, filling his emerald eyes with mirth, and in spite of the indignation Lovino felt, the brunet found that this was a much better expression than before. "...well, you're hot-headed, short tempered, foul-mouthed and uncouth—not at all lady-like."

Lovino punched him in the shoulder, causing Arthur to break out in laughter. Rolling his eyes and huffing indignantly, Lovino snapped, "Chigi! What the hell are you trying to say, dammit, you fucking bastard!"

"But you're soft-hearted and kind, gentle and warm," Arthur concluded affectionately with a tender glow in his eyes. "Guinevere had a kind of motherly warmth to her as well. We never had children though. I was always away for war and conquest."

Lovino pouted and stepped away from Arthur, failing to notice the hurt in his eyes. Pulling his gaze away from Arthur, he demanded, "Guinevere, Guinevere, Guinevere! Is that all you can talk about now?" Even though, the Italian chastised himself with a deep scowl on his lips, I'm the one who brought up the topic. In an attempt to collect himself, he stared down Arthur and jabbed a finger into his lover's chest almost in an accusatory action. "She might have been your queen once upon a time, but who the hell are you marrying now, you cheating bastard?!"

A look of appal came over Arthur's features as he stared at Lovino with pure and utter disbelief before his lips curved into a playful smirk. The blond pushed himself away from the wall and approached Lovino in an almost predatory stride. His eyes glinted with a feral glimmer, gleaming with hunger, lust, desire, and—above all—amusement, that disconcerted the smaller brunet. Caught off-guard, apprehension and anticipation began to travel through Lovino's nerves, tickling his senses with a subtle electrifying shock, causing a shudder to run up and down his spine and a storm of emotions to pool in the depths of his being.

Before he was even aware of it, Lovino's back pressed flat against the wall. The Italian was cornered, trapped between Arthur and the wall, unable to escape from his long arms, as Arthur slammed his palms against the surface behind Lovino. "Luv, you're treading on dangerous grounds here," he whispered into Lovino's ear in a teasing manner. His warm breath ghosted the shell of Lovino's ears, and the tingling sensations from before intensified. "How could you simply accuse me of adultery and infidelity? Have you no trust in your beloved husband to-be?" When Lovino did not respond, Arthur seized the opportunity to continue teasing his lover, "Or are you _jealous_?"

The inquiry evoked a most wondrous, amusing, and simply appealing and pleasing response from Lovino—in Arthur's opinion, that is. His olive cheeks burned with a scarlet flame that glowed brighter than dying embers of a candlelight, and the strangled noises escaping from his throat were most like that of a captured prey—small and demure—struggling to free itself as Lovino scoured his mind for any words he could use to defend himself from such an evil demon.

"Wh-Why the fuck would I be j-jealous, y-you—you supercilious bastard?!" Lovino spluttered rapidly in a flustered manner that rather aroused Arthur. When the Italian attempted to avert his eyes from the blond, the demon prevented Lovino from staring holes into the grounds by lifting his chin with his forefinger, angling his face so that their eyes met. Biting his lower lip to prevent it from jutting out in a pout, Lovino brought himself to ask almost shyly, "B-But still... Would you have preferred Guinevere? She might make a better queen than I would be a prince consort—" Lovino's lips were sealed immediately with a kiss, rendered speechless, and moments later he relinquished himself to Arthur's touches and caresses and comfort. His arms wrapped around Arthur's neck while the palm of his lover's free hand held the back of his head, fingers threading through his dark hair, and his body pressed closer and closer, yearning to be held and embraced, cradled protectively in Arthur's warmth, body, and essence. He was drowning, kiss after kiss, until Arthur pulled away, bringing Lovino back to the surface—somewhat dazed and drowsy—for a breath for air.

"Guinevere was a good girl," the Briton whispered softly, resting his forehead against Lovino's shoulder, "but now she's just a memory—a good memory—but a memory, nonetheless. I might have loved her centuries ago, but now you're the one I love, spitfire."

Lovino's cheeks flushed. "H-How could you just say something like that?" he muttered under his breath, too flustered to look Arthur in the eye. For that, the blond was grateful. He couldn't make eye contact either. "_It's just too embarrassing._" Arthur's heart skipped a beat as he realised that he had voiced his thoughts aloud in perfect unison with Lovino. A smile stretched across his lips gingerly, pressing against Lovino's shoulder, as the brunet shook with laughter. Lovino's voice sounded absolutely melodious; it was simply divine. He could understand how his father had fallen for an angel. They were beautiful, gorgeous creatures, but Lovino was a being even more marvellous and magnificent than a mere angel. His beauty would put Adonis to shame, and it would even break Narcissus' gaze from the pond waters for a brief glance. Arthur was thankful that the Heavens hadn't bothered taking Lovino from him; Arthur wouldn't know what he would do without Lovino. He would probably end up waging a war against the Heavens, but Lovino didn't need to know that. The brunet wouldn't want the destruction of the kingdom in which he believed since childhood, after all. The Demon King would keep this fact as his own dirty little secret.

"Go to bed, my love," Arthur coaxed his lover softly and tenderly. "It's getting late, and you must be tired after all of that bloody shite." Lovino nodded his head subtly before allowing himself to be guided by the blond to the bed. Before he could protest Arthur's actions, the blond tucked him into the bed and pressed a gentle kiss against his temple. The Englishman pulled away and glided towards the direction of the broken window. Waving his hand over the gaping mess, the shattered glass picked themselves up and pieced back together one by one. A white light travelled within the cracks, sealing the broken fragments together, before flashing away like a burst of lightning. The window appeared as good as new. Arthur then crawled back to bed and slipped underneath the covers. He cast a smile towards his Italian lover, assuring him that all was well, to relax the two of them. Once Lovino finally closed his eyes, Arthur flicked his finger in the direction of the darkest corner within their bedroom, igniting a small shadow creature with a ball of blue flames, with a small smirk on his lips. "Nice try, Mordred," he grumbled under his breath before closing his eyes as well.

* * *

The next morning, Feliciano simply floated into Arthur's study—since he was unable to knock, after all—whilst the blond was flipping through the pages of a thick and heavy tome. He hovered above the spot beside his brother's fiancé, waiting with an uncharacteristic patience, until Arthur finally addressed him with a short and simple, "Yes, Feliciano?"

"What happened last night?" the Italian phantom inquired quietly with a sort of dread filling his empty voice. His bright brown eyes were glowing a faint crimson now with a trace of shame and remorse in their ethereal intensity. Although he couldn't possibly feel cold or anything of the sort, he trembled; his entire being trembled despite not having a physical body to feel any physical sensation. Arthur observed him with a look of sympathy before turning his eyes to the pages of his tome out of courtesy when trickles of white light flowed down Feliciano's transparent cheeks. His voice—or, rather, the frequencies he emitted—cracked as he further asked of the Demon King, "Why can't I do anything?" Raising his transparent hands—more like the illusion of them—he questioned, "Why can't these hands do anything? Why can't I reach anyone? Why can't I touch anyone—or anything at all?" There was a wall of silence barring Feliciano from reaching out to Arthur and holding onto him childishly. That was all he was though—a mere child—lost and weeping. He might have been twenty-three by the time he had died, but now it felt like he was at least ten years younger and just as ignorant. Finally, Feliciano inquired, "Why am I a ghost?"

Arthur didn't answer immediately. In spite of the blank expression he wore, there was a part of him that felt immense guilt—and for what? He didn't know. He hadn't made Feliciano a ghost, and yet he sympathised with the poor lost soul. Had he been outside instead of indoors playing with the children, he may have been able to save little innocent Feliciano who still hadn't realised that even seven years later, Alfred and Matthew and Angelique and Jia Long and Neeraja still appeared as children instead of teenagers. Still, he was somewhat aware of what challenges Feliciano was undergone. He was removed from one realm and thrust into another. He was no longer human but something beyond scientific explanation. He was a supernatural phenomena, an otherworldly, ethereal entity.

"You have a regret that made you attached to this world," Arthur explained. He felt as though he had repeated this to Feliciano for the nth time, and each time it brought a sick, dark emotion to his stomach, unnerving him and making him rather uneasy, akin to guilt and remorse. Each time, he wondered if Feliciano truly understood if he was dead, and now he felt as though the Italian phantom was well aware of his situation. It was like he was crushing the childish innocence in those eyes that were once full of hope. He remembered how Lovino had told him about Feliciano's studies and about his galleries and artist residency and how his future was just _so bright_. Even though he had not personally reaped Feliciano's soul, it felt like he had ripped away the younger Vargas' life away from him.

"But I don't regret anything," Feliciano answered immediately—unaware of the thoughts wrecking havoc in Arthur's mind.

"Then it's something that the Emperor deemed equivalent to a regret—perhaps an unrequited love or something among the likes," Arthur responded shortly afterwards as he attempted to break away from his worries. He kept his emeralds trained on the page of the tome although he was now unable to read any of the words—ancient tongue or not. "Did you love anyone? Did you hate anyone? Did you have something left to do in this world?"

Feliciano pursed his lips together and lowered his voice—or, rather, decreased the amplitude of the sound waves he could emit—to reply to his brother-in-law's questions, "I've never had a serious girlfriend. I've never hated anyone. All I want to do is see my _fratellone_ happy."

Arthur bit his tongue, processing Feliciano's words inside of his head, and then replied, "I see..." With that, he closed his tome and stood, causing his elegantly carved desk chair to slide backwards with a screech as its feet rubbed against the marble floor of Arthur's study. "I'm afraid that I would have to ask you to wait, Feliciano, but..." He smiled weakly. "It won't be a long wait." His smile didn't reach his eyes. The emeralds were reflective now, almost liquid in appearance, and churning with a mixture of emotions. Despair, remorse, shame, and yet—overpowering all others—there was relief. "Everything will be over soon enough."

Stepping out of the study, Arthur sauntered down his long corridors and climbed down the stairs to meet with his twenty-four guests in the living room. However, before he could step into the designated meeting area, the blond noticed that most of his female guests—well, _all_ of them, actually—were missing. The males chatted amongst themselves, nevertheless, as if such disappearance could only be natural. Blinking once or twice, Arthur brought it upon himself to search for his missing guests first. He motioned for Feliciano to be quiet by pressing his forefinger against his lips and whispered to the Italian phantom that, if he wanted to join the others, he was free to do so. However, Feliciano attached himself to his brother-in-law's side. Even though Ludwig and Kiku were there with the other werewolves—minus Elizaveta—Feliciano still felt intimidated by the presence of the other supernatural entities.

Poking his head into the kitchen, he found Elizaveta, Marianne, Isabel, and Julchen gathered at the dining table with Lovino squirming in his seat. The children were playing with plastic pots and pans on the floor, pretending to cook an edible but just as plastic breakfast for the women and Lovino. He smiled softly upon overhearing the girls press Lovino on updates regarding the wedding when—in all actuality—there hasn't been any planning in the past few days due to Mordred's intervention with worldly affairs.

"What are you going to be wearing?" Elizaveta asked Lovino fervently with a strange, almost lustful, wanton glint in her eyes that made Arthur more fearful than envious. (However, Arthur had to admit, there wasn't really anything of which to be jealous when it came to Elizaveta. She was surrounded by a brute and two pricks, after all, with which one of the three other members she may have had a previous relationship.) "A dress?"

"Dress?!" Lovino shrieked indignantly, glaring at her heatedly. That was a first, Arthur noted with mild surprise. His little Italian flirt was always sweet-talking young women—especially if they were beautiful. For him to raise his voice at Elizaveta, who was quite beautiful herself, was almost uncharacteristic. Almost. Elizaveta did, after all, say something rather outrageous... though Arthur was now curious to see Lovino in a dress. With his ageless existence, Lovino was forever a youthful Adonis who possessed soft feminine features that may have belonged to his mother.

"Then Arthur?" Elizaveta mused, tilting her head to the side.

The blond nearly spluttered nonsensically with rage. He had forgotten that the Frog occasionally pointed out his slender frame—"_comme une femme_"—because it had been about three years since his comments of the like had lessened. Francis made it clear that he wouldn't tease Arthur about their non-existent sex life and their equally non-existent on/off relationship in favour of picking fun at Arthur's engagement and prospective marriage with Lovino.

"Suits!" Lovino exclaimed. "We're both wearing suits!"

"Although it would have been quite a sight to see," Marianne mused impishly, "_cher _Elizaveta might look the best in a dress."

At this, Elizaveta only laughed and responded, "I think Marianne would outdo me though! You're so pretty! The same goes for Natalia though! She's quite young, but she has a lot of potential to be a high-ranking member of the Council one day!"

"First she has to be independent though," Julchen remarked. "There's no relying on 'Big Brother' in the Council. It's crazy how attached she is to him."

"Well, she was changed from a sickly human to a strong and healthy vampire by him," Isabel pointed out. "I could see why she would feel indebted or attached. Ivan Braginsky gave her a chance to live a long afterlife she never would have gotten to experience as a sick little human. Now she is a beautiful vampire."

Marianne nodded her agreement and then turned to Lovino, who had tuned out of the conversation the moment he didn't have to speak. It was clear from the dark shadows under his hazel eyes that he was tired and exhausted from having to deal with Mordred. Nevertheless, he humoured Marianne when she asked him, "Who's your Maid of Honour?"

"_Cosa_?"

"Ah, I think it'd be cute if Natalia was a bridesmaid, too!"

"Oh, and sweet little Angelique can be the flower girl!"

"Are we going to wear matching dresses?"

"Of course! Why wouldn't we? Isn't it better that way? It looks more uniformed!"

"Wait a fu—ah, crap_—wait a minute_!" Lovino snapped, catching the attention of all in the room—even the children's. He swiftly apologised to the five children before turning his focus to the women. "Why are you planning our w-wedding for us? We haven't even decided who's going to m-marry us or who's going to be the best man or any of that."

"That's _why_ we're planning the wedding for you," Julchen remarked pointedly, rolling her heterochromatic eyes. "Honestly, what _have_ you gotten done? You don't have to worry about the officiant though. That role's filled by the Scribe since it's his job to record everything that goes on in history anyway."

"That the flower girl is going to be Angelique, and the ring-bearer is Jia Long since he's the most responsible and least shy of all the boys," Lovino grumbled as he tried to push Yao Wang out of his thoughts—unpleasant bastard that he was. "It's not even going to be a big wedding anyway. Besides, isn't the Maid of Honour the person who serves the queen? Like her personal servant or something? That's what Arthur told me. We only need one bridesmaid anyway—" Lovino stopped immediately upon seeing their heated glares. "Or..." he started again, "you could all be bridesmaid for all I care."

"Then who is your _principal_ bridesmaid?" Marianne pressed further.

Lovino's eyes darted back and forth between each gleaming face of hope and delight. He bit his tongue and turned to Elizaveta, asking hesitantly, "You want to do it?" Elizaveta had helped him save his little brother before, and she was one of Feliciano's closest friends. He knew she wasn't a terrible person even if she did associate with some anal-retentive bastards—or, in Gilbert's case, anal-expulsive.

"Do I ever!" she squealed before reaching over and embracing Lovino into a tight hug. Marianne and Isabel sighed in defeat but smiled nevertheless, sharing the same happiness that coursed through Arthur's body. Leaning against the threshold of the kitchen, he waited for the girls to take notice of him. Elizaveta was the first. The moment she lifted her face, her green eyes met with Arthur's. Grinning sheepishly, she pulled away from Arthur and greeted him respectfully. "Is it time for the meeting already?"

"It is," Arthur confirmed with a nod of his head.

"Then we better hurry and finish this business about this runaway," Julchen spoke up, standing from her seat with a smile. "You've put off this wedding for too long, My King."

Everyone shuffled past Arthur except for Lovino, who stopped in front of Arthur with a heated face flushed with embarrassment. "You heard of all of that?"

"I did," the blond confessed with a terribly amused smile on his lips. "What of it?"

"Nothing," Lovino grunted, stepping past his lover. He paused in his steps, hesitant, before bringing himself to ask, "Have you decided on your ushers yet? Your best man?"

Arthur hummed in thought. "Ushers, huh? Normally, they're people close to the groom, right?" the blond mused. "If that's the case, then... Gilbert, Mathias, and, bloody hell, even the Frog."

"Who would be your best man then?" Lovino asked curiously.

"That's a good question," Arthur mused. "I'll get back to you on that."

Lovino scowled before loosening his expression and chuckling softly at his fiancé's behaviour. It appeared that he wasn't the only one all over the place. Feliciano beamed at his brother's mood before his face fell. An epiphany dawned upon his expression, and he immediately reached out for Arthur despite falling directly through the Demon King. "Artù!" he exclaimed with his crimson brown eyes as wide as the moon. "Artù! I know what I want! I know what I need to do!" Arthur arched an eyebrow and waited for Feliciano to proceed with his realisation. However, the phantom only grinned cheekily and chimed, "Ve! But it's a secret! Don't worry! It'll happen! I know it will! My brother will be happy, and you will be happy, too, ve! Then I will be happy! Everyone will be happy! Isn't that great?!"

Arthur could only return Feliciano's smile and nod his head, unsure of what was to come. The Italian had broken into a rant, speaking a thousand miles per hour, in his native tongue about something regarding weddings. Even Lovino seemed bewildered by his brother's rambling. Instead of trying to translate that mess and understand it, Arthur headed into the living room to greet his twenty-four guests, all of whom stared at him expectantly. He cleared his throat and loosened his collar. Eyes fell upon his injured hand, which hadn't completely recovered from the burns he had endured to save Feliciano from the Swiss exorcist at the local church. "There's someone about which I have not been frank," Arthur began calmly and collectedly. "The black soul that has escaped from Hell was my nephew from the Arthurian times. You might have known that; you might have not. It doesn't matter."

He paced to the centre of the living room, pausing when all eyes fell onto him. "The point of the matter is that his target is me," Arthur announced. He froze when whispers overwhelmed the quiet atmosphere, rippling across the room like the rings that form in the surface of a pond with a drop of a mere pebble, growing louder and louder. "_Enough_!" he roared, demanding absolute silence. "For a while, I let him have his way. If he wanted to target me, then he could come after me. However, what he really wants is my despair and destruction. That includes everything I treasure." Arthur's voice faltered for a moment, but he quickly regained his strength—at least for appearance's sake. "I can't do this by myself. It's impossible for me to be at two—four—six or even eight—places all at once. He'll come after everyone and everything to wear me down, erode my armour, and I can't do anything about it all alone."

"I'm sorry, Your Majesty, but may I ask you something?" Kiku piped up. When he was acknowledged by the King of the Underworld, the fox spirit continued speaking, "What is it that you wish us to protect?"

Arthur smiled wryly and remarked, "Yourselves—all of you. Protect yourselves and one another. Of course, you already know to do that. How long have we all been comrades?"

Ivan chortled and mused, "Too long, Your Majesty. Too long it has been."

"So what's the plan?" Gilbert asked immediately with an almost feral grin on his lips. His hunting instincts have been revived, and he was eager to steal a bite of some action. Beside him, Mathias chuckled and pulled his friend back into his seat.

"Settle down, my friend!" Mathias boomed. "I'm sure Arthur was just getting there!"

"I have a plan in mind," Arthur admitted almost meekly. Stealing a glimpse of his oldest brother, he requested, "I would like for Alistair to have a look at him though. He _is_ the general."

The aforementioned redhead smirked, remarking, "It's about time ye noticed my brilliance, ye blasted moron of a brother."

"Okay, General Kirkland," Seamus teased, nudging his older brother in the ribs with a cheeky grin, "what will you and King Kirkland have us do?"

"First wake up Professor Kirkland while we're at it," Alistair retorted, kicking Owain awake in the shin. "This is going to be important; let's end everything here. I want to make it so that bastard won't ever get this idea inside of his barmy head ever again."

"What a shame," Gilbert moaned, slumping in his seat. "Just when everything was getting exciting, too! It's going to be another couple of centuries before some idiot in Hell acts up again! So not awesome... _Autsch_!" Gilbert rubbed the sore spot on his arm after Elizaveta smacked him there. Glaring at his fellow alpha, he grunted, "What the hell was that for, Lizbet?"

"What? Christmas isn't exciting enough for you?" Elizaveta snapped angrily.

"Christmas? We're the fucking _Underworld_! What do we need Christmas for? What's on Christmas?" Gilbert griped, narrowing his blood red eyes at his subordinate. Elizaveta merely huffed—along with the other women in the room—and crossed her arms, shooting Gilbert a succinct but incredibly enraged glare. Mathias snickered at his friend's demise while Francis merely smiled in amusement and shook his head. Ludwig only dropped his head in complete and utter disappointment invested within his brother. "What? Does everyone know but me?"

"It seems that you've forgotten," Arthur commented, raising an eyebrow. "Well, I suppose it has been a while since anyone's talked of a wedding."

"W-Wedding?!" Gilbert repeated. His eyes widened as he realised what his friend was implying. "Oh, right! Your Christmas wedding! _Scheiße_! That was this year?!"

"It will be _next_ year if this problem stretches out too long," Lovino remarked in a deadpan. He rolled his eyes while watching Gilbert digging through his mind for wedding gifts, pulling at the white strands of hair atop his head. "Anyway," Lovino turned his attention back to his fiancé, who was enjoying Gilbert's panic far too much to be considered normal, and asked of the Englishman, "what was this plan you had, bastard?"

"Well," Arthur began, "I was thinking of using everyone here and their speciality at my disposal."

Julchen only harrumphed haughtily and rolled her eyes. "Do you have to ask for permission, My King? You must already know that everyone here is your sword and shield. We are your weapons; we are your strength." Standing up, she promptly knelt on the floor and humbly placed her hand over her heart. "Please, use us as you see fit." _For as long as I am useful_, Lovino recalled her saying the same thing once three years ago. It was the same night as when Arthur had proposed to him. She really admires him, the Italian noted, but he supposed that it was because they had been allies for such a long time. She was even willing to become part of his harem if it meant that Arthur would have benefited from her participation.

After her example, the others shortly followed and copied her stance. Each one of the Twenty-Four Knights knelt on the floor, swearing their allegiance to Arthur as they had done centuries ago. The Demon King only smiled kindly and chuckled with the slightest embarrassment in his voice. He pulled a silver rapier from thin air with an eccentric but elegant hilt engraved with a swirling pattern and tapped Julchen's shoulders once, re-enacting her knighthood. "I dub thee, Dame Julchen of the Bonnefoy House, as the Fifteenth Knight of my Round Table and one of the three Golden Tongued Knights. You may now rise." One by one, Arthur reinstated and reaffirmed each one of their knighthoods until he finally turned to Lovino with a gentle smile. He handed the rapier over to Lovino, wrapping his lover's olive fingers around the hilt, and informed Lovino, "This is Clarent, a sword of peace. I have only ever used my rapier for knighting and celebrations. Now I'm entrusting this sword to you."

"Why?" Lovino asked him softly, so softly it was unheard to other ears aside from their own.

"Because," Arthur answered shortly, "it has my blood on it." The blond stilled for a moment as though debating if he should inform Lovino of another thing. After a moment's silence, Arthur mentioned, "This is the sword Mordred stole to kill me."

With that, the grip Lovino had on the blade loosened. The weapon clattered onto the ground before dissipating into particles of light, returning to whence it had come. Arthur trained his eyes on Lovino, who was clearly at a loss for words. "I'll teach you how to summon Clarent later," Arthur promised, "as well as Carwennan. It'll be necessary to do so since regulations on weapons in the UK are strict."

"C-Can I?" Lovino asked his fiancé sceptically. He dropped his eyes to the floor, ashamed of his earlier actions. "I'm not a magician like you. I didn't even write my name in the Black Book—"

"But you have this, don't you?" Arthur retorted, pointing to Lovino's heart. At the blond's touch, the pentacle carved into Lovino's skin burned with a familiar, tender warmth that caused his cheeks to flush with heat. He smiled. "We're already bound by something deeper than a contract. Plus, you have my blood—or traces of it, at least. I'm positive you can do it. You made a protection ward all on your own; you can prove yourself." Without leaving room for Lovino to protest, Arthur returned to his knights and announced that their strategy meeting will officially commence. The Italian was oblivious that he was the subject of Yao's scrutiny until the meeting had finished.

It was well past noon once everyone had left to occupy their posts and inform their subordinates of the new plans. The moment Lovino retreated into the kitchen to prepare lunch for the kitchen, the Chinese dragon had pulled him aside for a word. The younger man crossed his arms and raised an incredulous eyebrow at Yao's actions, remarking, "You're not going to nag me about cooking again, you old bastard?"

Yao's eyebrow twitched in irritation at Lovino's insult although he tried to remain indifferent. "I could care less if you cook now. It's a good thing to know how since the only daemons that need to eat a regular diet are familiars. That means that there will hardly be anyone there to prepare your own meals—human." The Chinese elder scoffed, crossing his arms, as he mused, "It's funny. Humans have tried for centuries to find the philosopher's stone or the elixir of life or the fountain of youth. Most who have succeeded in achieving immortality abandoned their humanity, yet here you are—one hundred percent human. The king is a fool for giving his everything for such a reckless love."

Lovino growled at Yao threatening although he knew fairly well that he couldn't even measure up to the oldest familiar in existence. This bastard was a dragon, after all, and Yao had made it clear that Lovino was still—as ever—a human, nearly useless in all affairs supernatural.

"Nevertheless, I suppose that makes the saying people in love do crazy things true," Yao continued regardless of Lovino's reactions. Locking his eyes together with Lovino, the Scribe stated firmly, "Arthur would die for you. He nearly had three years ago, and he would do it again. Even though he knows the importance of his existence, Arthur would want you alive and healthy above all else. He really is a foolish king; he still has a lot to learn." With a sigh, the Chinese elder smiled wryly at Lovino as though he knew something that the Italian didn't. "I'm one of his twenty-four knights, you know?"

"Yeah, I know, so what?" Lovino grunted in disdain. He wasn't sure if Yao was trying to show off his status or not.

"As a knight, my duty is to serve him. I can't comfort him. I'm only a tool for him to use," Yao explained shortly. "I can pierce and debilitate his enemies. I can shield him from attacks and counter them. However, I cannot support him. That's not what a weapon does. When I break, when I am no longer useful, he will be unguarded, unprotected, and vulnerable. That's where you come in." Yao's expression softened. It reminded Lovino of his mother's smiles. Warm. Mature. Wise. Knowing. "You can support him. Even if the entire world—the entire universe—is against him, you can stand behind him and push him forward. You give him a reason to be the protector, the guard, the shield and sword. You are his true strength. Because, Lovino Vargas, you are his world, his reason, his very existence, he can stand and fight and continue to fight. I cannot do that. The other knights cannot do that. This is something only you can do—because you are you—his consort, his lover, his friend, his life.

"I leave him in your hands."

* * *

**A/N:** I had considered listing all of the Twenty-Four Knights of the Underworld in the chapter, but I figured that would have been _way_ too long. If you're interested, I'll list them down here.

The Three Golden Tongued Knights  
Dame Marianne of the Bonnefoy House, the Fourteenth Knight  
Dame Julchen of the Bonnefoy House, the Fifteenth Knight  
Dame Isabel of the Bonnefoy House, the Sixteenth Knight  
_to whom everyone heeds_

The Three Virtuous Knights  
Dame Elizaveta Héderváry of Kerberos, the Seventeenth Knight  
Sir Emil Steilsson of the Køhler Clan, the Twenty-Second Knight  
Sir Tino Väinämöinen of the Køhler Clan, the Twentieth Knighthood  
_against whom the foulest fiends cannot face_

The Three Knights of Battle  
Lord Gilbert Beilschmidt, Head Alpha of Kerberos, the First Knight  
Lord Ivan Braginsky, Count of the Braginsky Coven, the Twenty-Third Knight  
General Alistair Kirkland, First Son of Hades, Prince of Wrath, the Fourth Knight  
_who do not flee at the sight of blood nor sword, spear, or arrow_

The Three Enchanter Knights  
Sir Lukas Bondevik of the Køhler Clan, the Twelfth Knight  
Prince Owain Kirkland, Second Son of Hades, Prince of Sloth, the Fifth Knight  
Sir Vladimir Popescu of the Braginsky Coven, the Thirteenth Knight  
_whom no one could overcome_

The Three Royal Knights  
Sir Roderich Edelstein of Kerberos, the Eighteenth Knight  
Lord Mathias Køhler, Chief of the Køhler Clan, the Second Knight  
Lord Francis Bonnefoy, Patron of the Bonnefoy House, the Third Knight  
_whom in peace nobody could refuse them and in war nobody could withstand them_

The Three Just Knights  
Sir Ludwig Beilschmidt of Kerberos, the Twenty-First Knight  
Sir Berwald Oxenstierna of the Køhler Clan, the Nineteenth Knight  
Prince Peter Kirkland, Fifth Son of Hades, Prince of Greed, the Twenty-Fourth Knight  
_who advocate the cause of justice_

The Three Offensive Knights  
Prince Seamus Kirkland, Fourth Son of Hades, Prince of Envy, the Sixth Knight  
Prince Jett Kirkland, Prince of Gluttony, the Eighth Knight  
Prince James Kirkland, Prince of Lust, the Ninth Knight  
_whom nobody could refuse them of anything that they wish_

The Three Counsellor Knights  
Sir Yao Wang, the Scribe, the Eleventh Knight  
Sir Kiku Honda, Servant Familiar to the King, the Tenth Knight  
Princess Kaelin Kirkland, Princess of Vanity, the Seventh Knight  
(Formerly Duchess Bridget Kirkland, Duchess of Vanity, the Seventh Knight)  
_who aid His Majesty with advice and relief_

On another note, this story is halfway done. Now that Feliciano's found his last wish, I wonder what it is~ What is Arthur going to do about Mordred, I wonder, and talk of a wedding has revived as well! Maybe there's a happy ending; maybe there's not.


	8. Chapter 7

**VII: The Exorcist**

"Lili, are you hungry?" Vash inquired as he peered into the windows of the local cafés and bakeries lining the pavement. Lifting his green eyes to peer into the blue skies, he found that the weather was rather clear today—somewhat strange for what he's seen so far in London. The sun was currently shining, and there was only a few scattered clouds stretched across the blue sky. However, in spite of the fine weather, Vash suffered an eerie chill that continuously ran up and down his spine. Perhaps it was because of the low winter temperatures. After all, they were in the middle of December, and his heavy coat was worn with years of wear as well. Even though it hardly did much good to wear it any longer, it was the only coat he had. Most of his funds went to Lili's care and well-being.

Glancing over his little sister, he beamed with pride to find her snuggled cosily in her new wool coat, which was dyed a faint lilac colour and lined with white fur. It fitted perfectly over the long winter dress, a rich blend of pink and red, forming a colour similar to that of salmon, that she wore with a pair of dark leggings and fur boots. She rubbed her hands together despite the fact that they were covered with white mittens, and Vash immediately took to adjust the white scarf around her neck—wrapping it tightly and snugly—so that she stayed warm.

"Cold?" he mused shortly.

She nodded her head subtly, keeping it bowed, as she commented, "I don't want to cause you trouble when you work though, _Bruder_. I'm okay."

Vash shook his head in disagreement before tugging on her hand, pulling his little sister along, while he marched down the street. As though sensing an older brother's concern, people automatically moved away from the pair of siblings—but not without shooting them a curious glance or two. "Come along," the older blond insisted. "You've been walking with me for hours now, and the last time you ate was dinner. It's cold, and you're hungry. Don't bother lying to me, Lili, or even trying to hide it." Without any room for protest, Vash led his sister inside a café, where they were immediately seated by the window. Vash handed Lili the menu before ordering the cheapest item for himself as well as two mugs of hot chocolate. His sister picked out a slice of the café's spice cake.

"It reeks," someone commented beside him, "of gunpowder and ammunition."

Vash's head snapped instantaneously to search for the source of the comment. He had hidden his weapons well—more than well, actually—so there was no way of any _regular_ person knowing about his firearms. His green eyes landed on a tall, muscular figure—a young man. He wore a thick leather jacket with the Prussian eagle on the back over a red hooded jacket and a black and white striped top with a pair of ragged blue jeans and heavy combat boots caked with dirt, mud, and—what appeared to be—blood. His eyes were hidden by a pair of dark shades, and the red hood covered most of his hair. Vash could see a few strands of white hair.

It was just a typical punk off the streets, Vash told himself. The comment didn't mean anything, and he didn't have proof that this punk had uttered those words. Brushing aside his suspicion, he waited patiently for their orders to arrive, but out of the corner of his eyes, he found himself watching the young man. Perhaps it was simply his imagination, or perhaps it was because of prevailing stereotypes that he was still wary of this stranger.

"_Bruder_, is something the matter?" Lili asked him quietly with worry evident in her shimmering green eyes.

Vash shook his head, glancing one last time at the hooded stranger, who had ordered a pint of some dark lager, before returning his focus to the meal in front of him. They ate in silence, and Lili thanked her brother for the meal once they were done. As courtesy, he begrudgingly left a fifteen percent tip for the waiter and then exited the establishment. He was completely oblivious to the shadows following him even though there was a lingering suspicion within the depths of his mind. Catching sight of an iridescent glimmer in front of him, Vash instantly and instinctively halted in his steps. He snapped out an arm, preventing Lili from stepping forward, and pivoted on his heel to confront whoever was trailing him. His eyes fell upon the hooded figure from before, and a feeling in his gut told him that he was right for being weary of this stranger. He immediately slung his violin case over his shoulder and nearly loosened the clasps to unveil his weapons, but something latched onto his bag. His eyes snapped to the assailant, only to find a large canine in place of a human.

_A wolf_! his mind screamed then, throwing him into a frenzy, as he attempted to fling the beast with a dark golden coat and icy blue eyes aside. The wolf still gripped his bag stubbornly, so when it skidded away from Vash, his violin case accompanied the golden wolf. Its icy blue eyes flashed once, glowing an amber gold brighter than even the sun, and Vash immediately pulled his gaze away from the beast. A_ werewolf_! he corrected himself with a deep scowl on his lips. He glared at the stranger who had confronted him, And this is their alpha_._ "Lili!" he barked then and there. "Cover your eyes and do exactly as I say!"

"Looks like you're pretty clever," the stranger in front of him spoke. His voice revealed his Germanic heritage. Reaching upwards, he threw away his shades to the side carelessly. His expression remained unchanged even upon hearing the shattered glass of the lenses. Instead, he grinned manically at Vash and mused, "You know the trick behind these eyes then?" His crimson eyes glowed with an unquenchable thirst for blood and insatiable hunger for flesh. "You stare into them, and it means death," the stranger explained. "Of course, it doesn't mean much when a werewolf is under a human guise. However, with your eyes closed in fear, what the hell can you do? Let yourself get ripped to shreds while trying to hide away from a monster? How are you planning to protect your little _Schwester_?"

Vash pushed Lili behind him as her tiny fists clutched the army green fabric of his coat. He clenched his jaw and quickly withdrew the handguns he had kept hidden. Quickly loading the silver bullets, he fired at the stranger, but just as soon as he had pulled the trigger, the stranger dodged the bullets by bending backwards. Using his momentum, he performed a flawless back-flip. The moment he was once more on his two feet, he approached Vash with his hands shoved into his pockets in a casual stride that greatly revealed his confidence. With every approaching step the stranger took, Vash himself took two steps back until he realised that there were two other wolves behind him joining the golden one that was guarding his violin case. One of the two possessed a dark brown coat, nearly a midnight black, with onyx eyes, and the other had a coat of rich brown that held a golden tinge and green eyes.

"You know, you're pretty interesting," the albino mused with a wicked grin stretching his lips. His red eyes still glowed with mirth. "You seem to follow the American idiom of 'Shoot first, ask questions later.' That will get you into trouble one day; you might pick a fight with someone entirely out of your league. Rather, I believe you already have."

"Have we trespassed on your territory?" Vash found himself asking the moment he mustered most of his courage. He attempted to shake off the traces of fear that bled through his voice. He knew that werewolves and vampires were highly and extremely territorial—like the animals they were—but he honestly did not know any of their boundaries. "We had no knowledge that this was your land if that was the case. Please allow us to pass, and there will be no repeat of this incident." His first and foremost priority, at any rate, was to get Lili out of there. Hell, he would even apologise if he had to do so—as long as it meant that Lili would be safe.

The stranger completely disregarded his words. He gestured with his hand and remarked, "You've met a young man appearing around twenty-three about this tall with blond hair and green eyes, right?"

Vash narrowed his eyes at the werewolf upon recalling the demon who had claimed to be the Devil. "What about him?" the blond hissed, eyeing Gilbert suspiciously. He kept an arm wrapped tightly around Lili in the event that they lashed out, attacking them. At least then he could cover her even if his own life would be at risk.

"Ah, so you have met him," the albino mused with a strange glint in his eyes. He was humoured, entertained, and entirely amused. Vash cursed himself for falling for his tricks but remained calm nevertheless. "You see, the way you've treated him was a bit insulting. I mean, you normally bow your head to a king, right?"

Vash snarled threateningly and menacingly at the pack's alpha, barking, "I will _never_ bow my head to the Devil! Who the hell do you think I am?!" He might have been a mercenary for hire, but he did have some values! He knew better than to dig himself a grave that led directly to Hell—even though that crazy stunt of his might have marked the end of his life.

"I think," the werewolf alpha began leisurely, tilting his head in thought, mocking him with the smug countenance he wore on his pale features, before he continued to speak, moving onto the reason of this confrontation, "you're nothing but a human. Granted, you may be a human with one hell of a shot, but you're still just a human. It's because you're human that we've been searching for you though, Vash Zwingli." He raised a forefinger, pointing unabashedly at Vash with a widening smirk on his pale lips, and remarked, "You've been recruited by the Devil, you _Arschloch_. You should look livelier. It's not everyday a King acknowledges your damn presence—never mind the _Demon King_."

"Weren't you listening earlier?" Vash snapped. "I won't work for the Devil! I refuse!"

"_Ja, ja, ja_! But, personally, I don't give a shit about that," the werewolf retorted, shoving his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. "Stop acting like you've got a damn good heart; we all know better than that." His red eyes connected with Lili's innocent green. "Don't we, _Schatz_? How many of your friends has your big _Bruder_ exorcised? How many of them do you never get to see again?"

"Shut up!" Vash cried, pulling Lili closer to him, as he attempted to cover her ears. Tears of frustration pricked at his eyes, daring to fall, as an irritating warmth itched at them. He refused to rub at his eyes. He wouldn't show weakness to a bastard like this. "Don't fucking talk to her!"

"Why don't you want her to hear all of this?" the alpha wolf mused. A haunting laugh erupted from his throat, echoing in Vash's ears like a phantom. "You ought to know that she probably knows all of that already. You've done it in front of her before, haven't you? Does the name Feliciano ring a few bells?"

Lili's eyes widened immediately. She turned on her brother with wide eyes filled—no, now overflowing—with tears. "Is that true, _Bruder_?"

"Lili, don't listen to him! He's lying!"

"I didn't say that you've exorcised Feliciano already," the albino wolf grunted impatiently, "but it's true that you've tried, haven't you? You tried pulling the same trick on the Devil himself, didn't you? Tough luck. He's a stubborn one. He won't die that easily, and—trust me—you're one the first one to have tried a hand on his existence."

"What do you want?!" Vash demanded heatedly. His eyes glossed over with aggravation, agitation, and tested patience.

"You want to exorcise a ghost, right?" the alpha recalled, crossing his arms. "We're after the same target—the reason why you're in London instead of Geneva or Bern or Zürich or wherever you're from. The point is that he's a pain in the ass, and we want to get rid of him. Unfortunately, werewolves don't have the magic to kill him off for good. We hunt them down and bring them back to where they belong with magic tools, but they're not quite specialised for this—erasing the existence of these souls, I mean. Exorcists are. You can erase them, and nobody knows where the hell they go." In other words, trying to catch him is a pain in the ass; it's easier just to erase him.

"I thought," Vash remarked, "that this one was on the level of a high-ranking demon. I can't handle it."

"That's right," the alpha responded casually and collectedly, undeterred by Vash's words, "you can't. Not alone. Neither can we." He sighed once, exposing how tired he was of all of this—of Vash, of his questions, and of this phantom—before glancing once more at Vash. "You want this pest gone, right? So you can get your pay? It's a superordinate goal; we might as well work together. It's not like I'm asking you to sell your soul to the Devil."

"Can't he handle this himself if he's so almighty and powerful?" Vash returned in another attempt to avoid cooperating with the Otherside.

The alpha grunted. "This isn't just a lost soul we're talking about. This is a fucking _nightmare_ that has the makings of a high-ranking demon, and our highest demon has his powers restrained on Earth anyway—though he's still stronger than a regular human's sorry ass. Anyway, you said it yourself. It's not a simple matter. Why the hell do you think we're going around hunting down exorcists to help us?"

"There's more than one exorcist helping you?"

"Not at all," the werewolf mused with a scoff. "They're too afraid of the Devil, and they're all weak, fragile humans—that goes for you, too. However, you're the first human who dared to point the end of a gun's barrel at my boss, so what do you say?"

Vash glanced around them. Sometime during their conversation, the other three wolves have stepped closer towards him and Lili. Clenching his jaw, he spat out, "It doesn't look like I have any other choice. Does it?"

The albino laughed.

"I like you. I'll make sure you get a good spot somewhere in your afterlife."

Vash scowled. "That doesn't make me feel any better."

"You think I give a shit about your feelings?" the alpha retorted mischievously, grinning widely with amusement. "I really don't care—not even by the tiniest little shit!" As he stepped towards Vash, the exorcist continued to eye him with blatant weariness and suspicion. "You're just a fucking human, after all—just a piece of shit. Let's talk about your feelings after you become a dog, too, all right?" Vash snarled at him, nostrils flaring, but that only served to make the werewolf alpha laugh. "Man, you're just awesome! This is awesome! I really like you—this little shit! I guess you deserve to know my awesome name after all of this! It's Gilbert—Gilbert Beilschmidt. Nice to meet you, shithead!"

* * *

"He's strong," Lukas commented under his breath as he followed the trail of darkness only he could sense. It was an oppressive aura filled with aggression and vexation not too different from the life essence of most demons, and from this trail exuded a great mass of fear and terror.

Each daemon race had their own way of hunting lost souls, which were perfectly visible to all in the Otherside once they were extracted from their physical shell, the body. For demons and angels, it was the soul itself and every little thing about it. After all, demons fed on and lived off souls while angels guarded them during the time they were alive. For werewolves and vampires, it was the scent or sound of the soul itself—the smell of blood that would forever stain their existence, the sound of screams that would forever haunt their existence—that they used to track down their target. For succubi and incubi, it was the traces of desire that clung to the soul and chained them to the physical world. For revenants, then, it was the fear that followed the souls to the afterlife. Everyone was afraid of something, and it was terror and horror that attracted revenants to these lost souls.

Of course, the greater one's grasp of magic and supernatural abilities, the better one could grasp a soul. However, magic was a selective gift even among the daemons. In general, werewolves and vampires both were gifted with keen senses, sharp reflexes, and heightened physical abilities while succubi and incubi possessed great stamina, and revenants were unable to decay and, at the same time, unable to heal. Demons and angels, on the other hand, may have been the only species perfectly capable of utilising magic. Most of the mages in the Underworld's military were lower-level demons, generations of descendants of fallen angels, in comparison to other daemon species. With magic, demons were able to contract other beings. With magic, angels were able to provide divine interference to their charge.

Then there were others outside of these two races that had an affinity with using magic—such as Lukas and Vladimir—but it was especially rare for anyone outside of the demon or angel race to excel with magic.

Lukas ought to feel honoured, and in a way, he was. He was knighted by the King and even became friends with him. He couldn't have imagined such a life when he was alive; honestly, when he was a human, Lukas thought he would be burning in Hell right about now. It was somewhat odd for him to be hunting down a soul that probably should be punished by the greater powers for some unfathomable crime against humanity.

"Where to now, Lukas?" Mathias inquired as he stopped beside the smaller blond. Lukas had paused in his steps several moments ago to recollect his thoughts and to focus on finding the fugitive. Behind him, Berwald, Tino, and Emil slowed to a stop. "Lukas?" Mathias called out his friend's name again when the smaller blond failed to respond to him. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Lukas answered tersely. He pointed a finger to a growing shadow on the floor. "We're here."

"_Incoming!_"

Just as soon as the cry reached the revenants' ears, a knife skimmed past Lukas' cheek, cutting off a few strands of his pale blond hair. He didn't even blink and instead stared at Vladimir and the other vampires that had arrived with a deadpan.

Only a few moments ago, Vladimir and the rest of the vampire coven had been doing the same thing as the revenants—tracking down Mordred and disregarding (or trying to disregard) the shadows the phantom had conjured in his wake. Natalia, however, had a rather short temper and constantly attempted to drive away the shadows that haunted them more than once. Because of this, Vladimir had enchanted her knives so that they could pierce through the untouchable shadows even though it distracted him from his task at hand. Ivan had forced Natalia to cease her activities though—at least for the meanwhile—and then proceeded to tease Vladimir about how he was sniffing around town like a dog—or, more specifically, a werewolf—once the vampire mage was focused on hunting their target.

However, the moment Vladimir caught sight of a suspiciously shifting shadow, all jokes were thrown aside in favour of chasing down the subject of their attention. Enchanted weapons—bullets, knives, iron pipes—had all attempted to penetrate and slash the shadow that skilfully evaded their attacks as they had begun to corner the shadow over the Thames. In the midst of an attack, Natalia had flung one of her knives at the solidifying figure, but he had dodged the blade at the last second, sending it flying towards the other party.

"Incoming!" Vladimir had cried then, only to earn Lukas' deadpan.

"That was dangerous!" Mathias exclaimed.

"What does it matter?" Emil remarked from behind his chief. "It's not like he would have died."

"It's pretty difficult to sew an ear back onto your head correctly though!" Mathias protested. "You have to make sure that everything's all properly aligned or else you can't hear anything correctly! Then you have to rip it off and do it all over again!"

"It's not like you even use your ears to listen," Natalia hissed before being admonished by her older brother to respect the other Lord even if she did not like him and even if she thought that he—and the other two Lords aside from her beloved brother—was an idiot.

"I apologise for my _sestrenka_," the Count of Vampires chimed, smiling eerily in that childish manner of his. "Getting along with others is not her strong point, but she does have good aim, accuracy, and precision, _da_?"

"Scary good," Emil muttered under his breath. "Enough to rival Tino." The smaller blond showed no sign of being acknowledged and kept smiling amiably. However, he did become more solemn and grave once everyone noticed that the shadow on the ground finally peeled itself and solidified into a three-dimensional figure—although everyone doubted that it was made of any material substance that their swords and spears and arrows could pierce and lacerate.

"Are you wanting to see who is better shot?" Ivan inquired innocently. He snapped his fingers, and Natalia promptly obliged her older brother. She stepped forward, extracting her throwing knives and nestling them between her fingers, as the blades began glowing with Vladimir's mystic charm—shining like the golden sun. At the same time, Mathias urged an anxious Tino to the front lines. The smallest revenant docked an arrow enchanted with Lukas' magic from his leather quiver into his elegant longbow as it began to glow the same golden hue from the enchantment.

"_Bless our weapons with holy light to combat the shadows_!"

Just as the two sharpshooters focused on hitting their target, a loud cry from above broke their concentration. Tino's arrow flew askew while Natalia's grip on her knives slackened. "Oh _Schieße_!" yelped the newcomer as he dropped from above. Gilbert twisted his body, manoeuvring expertly to avoid the arrow that threatened to graze his albino skin, and pulled his legs towards his chest to dodge the flying knives. Using the momentum of his movements, he pushed into a flip but landed on the ground rather pathetically, rolling on the ground in a ball. Gilbert stopped on his back, groaning in pain, before propping himself into an upright sitting position. Resting his elbow against a knee he brought towards his chest, he narrowed his red eyes into a glare, "You can't treat this like a contest yet, you _Dummköpfe_! Werewolves have been hunting lost souls and bringing them to either the Dark Realm or the Celestial Realm for _how long_ now? You can't leave me out of the fun! Don't underestimate Kerberos, _verdammt_!"

"It's hard to take you seriously when you just fell from the sky, Gilbert," Mathias mused as he peered into the night sky. "How did you manage to do that anyway?"

"I jumped from one of the towers over there," Gilbert grumbled, gesturing aimlessly towards a general direction. "My team will join us eventually. They have the soul cage in the slight chance that Mordred will calm the fuck down and follow us back to Hell."

"Then we are mostly accounted for?" chimed Francis as he joined the others over the Thames. Behind him were Marianne, Julchen, and Isabel. He crossed his arms as he cast a glance over the shadow creature. "_Mon Dieu_, we were searching everywhere for this foul soul when—all of this time—he was seeking out Arthur? We were going around in circles!"

"And Arthur let us continue going about in circles," Marianne concluded indignantly, huffing as she puffed out her chest in a display of her frustration. "That man—kind as he may be—really knows how to drive a person to the brink of _insanité_! He might have done so with good intentions, but, _honnêtement_, he really is one hell of a devil."

"He _is_ the Devil, _Schätzchen_," Gilbert responded dryly with a wry smirk on his lips that gradually widened into a grin. "I can see where he worries about us though. We can't even land a hit on this phantom because his magic rivals our Three Enchanter Knights—right, Mordred?" The shadow ebbed like the dark waters below them, morphing here and there, to form a more humanoid appearance. The darkness lightened to resemble a skin tone that reflected the pale light of the moon and began to sprout wiry strands of hair that gradually bleached to a deep brown. The frontal area of the shadow—where the face ought to be—began to shape into more identifiable features—eyes, ears, and nose, for example—and a pair of glowering green orbs peered into the crowd surrounding it.

"So you've finally managed to track me down," mused the phantom of a dark knight as a twisted sneer carved his lips, "and so you've managed to corner me. Good for you lot." Crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow, he remarked, "But are you not a few steps behind? I am a spectre and can easily phase through your bodies."

Lukas pulled open his jacket and revealed a single rune of many that he, Vladimir, Owain, Lovino, Yao, and Kiku had spent the previous night crafting for each of the twenty-four knights along with the King and his consort to-be, the five guardian spirits, and the English manor they had made their base. "You do that," Lukas retorted, "and I can't guarantee what will happen to you."

Vladimir nodded his head in agreement. "We can't destroy a spectre with weapons alone, but we very much can touch you now—even if we're not demons ready to feast on you, a lost soul—and can very much harm you little by little," he mentioned with a toothy grin that displayed his fangs. "Now we can drag you back to Hell—if you're not erased first."

Grunting, Mordred unleashed a desperate attack, forcing the air in the area to bend to his control. He sent a powerful, overwhelming blast of wind towards the crowd, but it was merely countered with Lukas and Vladimir's combined effort. Mordred was still very much a powerful Druid, after all. It was only a matter of time before they could weaken him—or so they thought. With another push, Mordred was able to drive the gust over his pursuers that nearly knocked them away.

While Francis and the succubi managed to sink their rapiers into the bridge to keep from falling into the Thames, Ivan, Mathias, Gilbert, and Berwald sunk their feet into the material of the bridge so not to be blown away. Ivan grabbed onto his sisters, cradling them in the safety of his arms. Mathias grasped tightly onto Lukas, who, in turn, gripped Emil's hands tightly. Berwald held onto Tino, and Gilbert was growling at the three shivering vampires that clutched at his military coat, sinking their claw-like nails into the fabric. "Hey, that's vintage!" he barked indignantly over the howling wind. "You can't get any other coat like this unless you dig up a damn grave!" Their shuddering seemed to increase with Gilbert's outburst even though it didn't seem that they could hear his words clearly.

Mordred released a feral cry and subconsciously intensified the wind. It whipped and lashed at his pursuers like razor blades grazing and cutting into their flesh. Gilbert could feel his feet being pulled from the ground and, with a fierce growl, forced himself to transform into his canine form in spite of the quivering vampires latched onto him. They nearly flew away in the brief moment Gilbert needed to transform, but three other wolves managed to catch them by the collar of their jackets before lying flat on the ground, digging their claws into the ground. Gilbert did the same, cushioning Francis and the girls when their grip on the rapiers' hilts slackened. He crawled to the swords, and the four members of the Bonnefoy house clung once more onto the hilts of their weapons just as Gilbert reverted to his more human form. A pair of white ears stuck from the top of his head, and a bushy white tail protruded from his tail bone. His red eyes turned to the exorcist who had accompanied his pack as he snarled at the Swiss man, who was carrying the werewolves' soul cage in his arms nearly an entire city block away from the scene, "Don't get any closer unless you want to get sucked in!"

"What's going on?!" Vash demanded over the roaring winds. He didn't dare to cross the bridge. "Why is there such strong wind?!"

"It's the damn ghost, you shithead! And this one knew _magic_ when he was alive!" Gilbert growled lowly as he narrowed his eyes at the spectre he referenced. "If you understand how dangerous it is, stay there and prepare for your stupid ritual shit! We'll try to contain this son of a bitch while you're busy!"

"How are you going to do that?!"

Lukas and Vladimir muttered something under their breath that grew louder and louder with each uttered word. Unsheathed weapons began to glow with a golden light as though the mighty, holy wrath of Zeus surged through them. At the sight of their re-enchanted weapons, Mathias stomped one foot forward, slowly inching towards Mordred, with Lukas and Emil still in his arms, and Ivan began to follow his example. Julchen unsheathed her spare sword and stabbed it forward, using her two blades to pull herself closer to Mordred. Marianne clasped her hand together with Isabel, and the two of them worked together to pull through the storm.

"We'll do it bit by bit!" Gilbert declared as he charged forward. He pulled Julchen's spare sword free from the ground and pierced the glowing blade through Mordred's front. He could feel the laceration of non-existent flesh and smirked widely. "I love magic," he sang before withdrawing the blade. "This is awesome—_damn_ awesome!" His red eyes flashed once, meant to bound the soul, but Mordred broke free of its trance after freezing succinctly. Gilbert cursed under his breath before lashing out at the phantom once more.

Mordred swiftly blocked the oncoming attack with a psychic barrier, and the blade rebounded once. Gilbert persisted. The edge of the blade made contact again with the barrier, and the sound of something shattering could be heard. Mordred's eyes widened before he hopped away from the end of Gilbert's blade. Even though he would not be destroyed, he could feel pain, and pain was something with which he was too familiar. Memories of war broke through the flood gates and surged into his mind, overwhelming him. Panic shone in his eyes, and the blasts and gusts of wind faltered for a single moment when he found himself at a lost.

Bodies. Mountains of bodies. They were everywhere—in front of him, behind him, all around him—and they surrounded him. Blood pooled at his feet. The foul stench of death and decay polluted his mind, drowning him in a haze, numbing his senses. The deafening clangs of metal ringing against metal thundered in his ears like the grave and solemn knells of church bells so loudly he thought he couldn't possibly hear anything else, yet he heard holy scriptures being read aloud in an ancient tongue he used to hear daily.

_Ah_.

Mordred's eyes landed on the Swiss man who was reciting from the Holy Bible.

"_Where's the King?"_

"_We don't have time! We have to proceed without him now that he's finally weakened!"_

"_We've got him now!"_

"_Go, Gilbert! Cage him!"_

Then he dropped his eyes and found the blade of a sword stuck through his abdomen, yet he felt no pain. Even though he felt no pain, he felt fear coursing through his being.

_History truly is repeating itself._

Suddenly, everyone was trapped between a hard place and a tempest as the dying winds transformed into a wild storm.

"But I don't care to die—not again."

"_Arthur, where the hell are you?!"_

* * *

Lovino flipped through some more pages of one of Arthur's older grimoires as he stirred the tomato sauce he planned on using with some rotini. Setting aside the wooden spoon, his hazel eyes skimmed through the text he knew to be vaguely English, attempting to decipher the foreign language. However, the text was written sometime in the twelfth century, so not only was it difficult to understand, it was difficult to read. The letters didn't even appear to be distantly related to the Roman alphabet. Clicking his tongue, Lovino snapped Arthur's grimoire shut and instead poured the tomato sauce over the twisted noodles before grating a bit of cheese over the eight dishes he prepared. Setting them on the dining table, he then prepared to grab seven plastic children's cups from the cupboards, each one clear but a different colour, and filled them entirely with apple juice.

"Domestic life suits you well, Your Highness," a soft feminine voice commented from the threshold leading to the kitchen. Lovino turned his head to find Princess Kaelin standing there dressed in her pink smock, which was now splattered with paint, and tank top and shorts. She smiled shyly at him, but the curve of her lips only lasted a few seconds before it faded into her usual blank but regal expression. Lovino found that all the members of Arthur's family possessed that same flair of royalty, but he supposed it was only natural seeing that they've been nobles since their birth centuries ago. "It is not very ladylike of me to say that I am jealous of Cousin Arthur's guardian spirits, but... I suppose I am."

A part of Lovino was nervous. This was the first time they've ever had a conversation just between the two of them. He had a faint idea of how Arthur's brothers and cousins would act, but he hadn't even met this princess before this entire ordeal with Mordred. He gestured towards the dining room, asking her to take a seat, before taking the spot across from her. "What do you mean?" he found himself asking her after a moment of silence.

"My father was always distant from his children, so I never had a father figure like my cousin either. As for my mother, she was kind, but she was always busy with her own affairs," Kaelin explained, fiddling nervously with her napkin as she laid it atop her lap. For the first time, Lovino realised that, in spite of her centuries of living and in spite of her aristocratic upbringing, Kaelin was still a child who very much missed the presence of her parents. "She's an independent women; I'm sure you understand that. You've met her before, haven't you?"

"I have," Lovino confirmed. "She's strong."

Kaelin giggled. The Italian found that he quite liked it when she laughed. It suited her far better than that grave and serious expression she wore all of the time. "I think the proper word choice would be that she is prideful," the princess corrected. The smile from her lips, once again, faded. "I am as well. That is why she allowed me to inherit her title. My mother has other concerns now, and she would rather for the Demon Court to be governed by the new generation as well. She would have been the last one of the original fallen angels in King Arthur's Demon Court. I think she was lonely... but, again, she is much too prideful to admit that."

"You don't like your new position?" Lovino assumed.

Shaking her head, Kaelin protested, "It's not that I don't like it. I'm fine with her decision. I, too, know that I am prideful, but I know my place. My brothers and my cousins have so much more experience than I do—with the exception of Peter, of course—which is why they are entrusted with the task of supporting the king. Alistair, Owain, and Seamus are off to battle while Jett and James are relaying the current situation to my mother and the rest of the Underworld, both very important tasks, while I am here with the children and Peter, so..."

"You're insecure," Lovino concluded.

Kaelin didn't respond to that statement. She only said, "My mother is one of the three Counsellor Knights of the Round Table together with the Scribe and His Majesty's loyal servant familiar. I lack the knowledge and wisdom to advise him on such matters."

"I don't think so," the Italian protested as he rested his elbows on the table, defying Yao's earlier lessons on dining etiquette, and crossed his arms. "Arthur's not that much of an idiot to ignore someone when they have something to say. He listens to everything and tries to make sense of the situation. He's always done that even if he dismisses it as rubbish or bollocks or whatever the fu—whatever _else_—he says." Lovino smiled briefly at Kaelin, assuring her, "I'm certain that he heard you and what you had to say the other day." She returned his smile weakly before blushing with embarrassment when the sound of Kiku escorting the other children into the kitchen grew louder. Kaelin immediately recomposed herself as Lovino began to serve the children.

She chuckled succinctly, musing, "He's just like a housewife."

"Did you say something, _Principessa_?"

Kaelin shook her head before taking the fork into her hand. "Only that the pasta looks delicious," she lied smoothly. "Thank you, Prince Lovino." She giggled to herself when she noticed that his cheeks flushed a bright and deep red upon hearing the title attached to his name. All Kirklands are the same, Lovino decided at that moment. They're all sadistic but soft-hearted.

Nevertheless, the two of them joined the others in their lunch. It was all they could do for Arthur at that moment. Neither Lovino nor Kaelin (nor Peter) were any use in battle as they were, but waiting for their friends' return was just as painful. Behind all the masks of happiness the children wore, Lovino could tell that they were only hiding their fear and anxiety, but he also knew that was no better. Still, they had to, as Gilbert had said, "hold the fort—literally." Everyone suspected there was a chance that Mordred's shadows would surface in Arthur's home just as they had the past several times despite the number of protection wards they had placed all over the manor. Now they were trapped inside as well, and Feliciano was starting to become extremely unsettled.

At the mere thought of his brother, Lovino inclined his head so that he could stare into the halls. He could sight of his brother's transparent form floating down the corridor, roaming aimlessly in Arthur's manor, once more that day. Feliciano had been acting especially strange ever since he had discovered what it was that he wanted to do—his dying wish, apparently—and he would attempt to avoid Lovino every time the older Vargas would confront him on his behaviour.

"Roma," Alfred called out to his guardian as he tugged on the Italian's sleeve. When Lovino turned to face the American child, his heart stilled upon noticing the crestfallen and utterly devastated expression on the boy's face. "I can't sense Daddy any more."

"Papa?" Angelique cried with tears brimming in her eyes. She clutched her fork so tightly that Lovino stood up to wrench it out of her grasp. Instead, he held her hand in his own and was forced to peer into her honey coloured eyes as she locked their gazes together. "It's true! He disappeared!" In that instant, all of Lovino's patience and collectedness shattered, revealing the worry and concern he had hidden under his title as the king's prince consort, as he brought Angelique into a hug.

Arthur, he pleaded with the blond, wherever he may be, I hope you know what you're fucking doing.


	9. Chapter 8

**VIII: Lost One's Weeping**

"Who are you?"

The question hung in the air, left unanswered, as Arthur stood still and alone in an empty white room. A pair of white wings had sprouted from his back only a few mere moments ago in response to the free energy flowing in the area, and now they were folded loosely against his porcelain white skin. In all actuality, he wasn't sure if he was even within a room. Not only did life energy stream into the area and out of the area fluidly like an undisturbed river, tranquil and serene, but the whiteness also extended onwards forever to the point where he could no longer discern a horizon. The space in which he was currently present was far too vast to be a single chamber. Nevertheless, the blond felt trapped within the vicinity. There was no entrance, no exit, no windows, no doors—simply nothing—yet both light and life energy freely flowed about him. He wasn't even sure how he had arrived to such a place, but for some reason he felt as though this was not his first time here.

"Who am I?" repeated an omniscient voice, sounding vaguely amused with Arthur's choice of words and the content of the inquiry itself. The voice was neither masculine nor feminine, and it was also not a singular voice. The words echoed in the voices of many—soprano, alto, baritone, tenor, bass—and reverberated all around Arthur, bouncing off the walls he did not—or could not—see... if they were even there. The scene was eerily familiar to the blond like a sort of distant dream or a distant memory he could not readily recall. The voice—or voices—then returned, "Why, the question is, 'who are _you_?'" With each word spoken, the voice became clearer, and Arthur could make out the sound of an elderly gentleman.

"I beg your pardon, but what do you mean by 'who am I'?" Arthur responded bemusedly. "I'm nobody else but me—Arthur Kirkland."

"Then you ought to know whom I am," the stranger retorted. "I _am_ family, after all, my boy."

Thick brows furrowed together in deep contemplation. "Family?" Arthur repeated sceptically. "My family is made of brutes and beasts. Even so, it is small enough for me to know who is in my family. I've only four brothers, three cousins, and an aunt, good sir. My father's disappeared, and my uncle's—well—dead." I killed him seven years ago. "That's all there is to my family."

"Have you not forgotten someone?"

"But who else is there?" Arthur muttered to himself, questioning his own knowledge of the situation. "My mother is dead, and my brothers all have different mothers. My father was unmarried last I checked..." However, he quickly caught himself in the act of straying into his thoughts and refocused his attention to the task at hand. "I'm truly sorry, sir, but I really must go,"the Briton insisted politely. "I have somewhere to be." Glancing at his surroundings again, Arthur then found himself asking, "Where is this place, anyway?" Another taciturn moment passed before the blond pondered, "How did I get here? Or, rather, how do I get _back_?"

A burning sensation pierced through his chest like a bullet's penetration, nearly devouring his heart, and he groaned in pain, clutching his breast, digging his nails into his flesh as though to grasp the agony physically and wrench it away from his body. In his moment of weakness, he vaguely compared to a certain past experience since it was all so eerily familiar. Arthur's breath hitched in his throat, and he struggled to gasp air as a familiar poison coursed through his veins. He felt it climb up his neck, burning his flesh all the while, as he endeavoured to cough out the foreign invasion. He spat out a mouthful of black flames as dark blood dripped from the corner of his lips. _Of course_, he recalled acerbically, this isn't the first time at all.

"_You_," the Demon King seethed, watching as the black flames shifted into a humanoid form. "What the bloody hell do you want from me? Couldn't you have stayed dead?"

"Well, it's difficult to stay erased when traces of my life essence poisoned your heart and lingered there," Patrick retorted as his dark eyes glimmered with morbid amusement. "Granted, it's weaker than it was seven years ago, but it's still there—though barely." The older demon knelt beside the huffing and panting Arthur—exhausted from heaving out the last of the rising poisonous flames from his body—and patted his back in an almost comforting manner. "A little longer and I would have been out of your life—finitely, of course," he mused. "With this, I'm gone as well. I'll only remain a memory."

"What do you gain from doing this?" Arthur hissed threateningly, daring Patrick to pull any one of his crazy stunts. "You no longer exist in the world."

"Easy there," Patrick chastised, tutting his tongue, before turning his gaze elsewhere—everywhere, it seems—aside from Arthur. "Do you not understand the situation in which you have found yourself? Do you know whose presence lays in front of you and all around you?" When he received no answer, Patrick only rolled his eyes in exasperation. "No, I suppose not. The two of you have never met save for when you were but a newborn, and even as a demon child, you probably do not remember at all. Nevertheless, it's best that you mind your manners, Nephew—no, forgive me, _boy_. Behave yourself."

"Please pardon my rudeness, _former_ Duke of Pride," Arthur responded sardonically. The words he spat dripped with burning acid that left a bitter taste in his mouth, yet he didn't at all mind. A part of him rather missed interacting with Patrick—though an arse he may be—since the man was once his uncle. Patrick has been around for a long time, so it was a strange sensation to experience his absence—permanently, in fact—even if nobody else would admit to that. Arthur glanced around him once again only to find that the white vastness remained unchanged. "Would you care to explain this situation then?"

"This is the space between the different dimensions, the edge of the universe," Patrick responded, "where nothing exists except for an empty void into which life energy can flow and pool for the Maker's play. You might as well call this the Maker's Room; others would call it the Sea of Cosmos—or Chaos, even. It is home to the Maker's greatest failures and the foulest of monsters."

The whiteness of the room dissolved, melting like powdered snow, to reveal the galaxy speckled with deep violets and dark blues and bright stars shining like the dying flames of lost souls. A startled gasp escaped past Arthur's lips along with a strangled cry dragging itself from his throat as he stepped away from Patrick. He wasn't even sure if he was standing or floating, and when he saw rings rippling beneath his feet as though he was stepping on the surface of water, he could feel his heart pounding violently in his chest. The Maker had shared with him—him and Patrick—probably one of the world's greatest secrets.

Patrick spoke again after he was certain that Arthur had recomposed himself, "We can talk here—all three of us—undisturbed and without fear. There is no better place for uttering secrets, and, my dear boy, that is all we ever possess as demons—secrecy, treachery, trickery, etcetera, etcetera."

Arthur's eyes widened. "Then—this place—this... this is where the Emperor resides? I thought he would be in the Heavens—in the Celestial Realm—with all of his angels!" the blond exclaimed as he continued to back away from Patrick like a cornered beast. His eyes portrayed naught but awe and reverence with the slightest hint of fear nipping at his mind. Suddenly, he felt the magnitude of the differences between his power and the Emperor's. Arthur had always known that the Maker himself was an almighty power, but he had never understood how vast the gap between them was until this very moment. "Why am I here? What is it that you want with me?"

"Don't be afraid, boy," Patrick remarked. "He wants nothing with you other than to see that you are doing well—not that you would remember this encounter. You never do. At any rate, it is because of me that you are here. We have much to discuss."

"I no longer have anything to discuss with you," Arthur retorted tersely.

"I beg to differ," the raven haired demon retorted. "We have many similarities, boy. After all, we are both uncles who want to kill our nephews, are we not?"

Arthur grounded his teeth, clenching his jaw, as he furled his fingers into tightly packed fists. "You're wrong," he snapped. "I don't want to kill anybody."

"Then what?" Patrick mused. "You're going to _save_ him? There's no saving a lost soul as black as a demon's flames. He's no longer human, Arthur. There's no use in trying to purify him with an exorcism. Your best bet lies in destroying him entirely, and I know that you are capable of at least that. It should be no problem. Demons devour souls regularly, so why not consume his?"

The blond scowled. "I've told you already," he protested, "that I'm not going to kill anybody. I'm not going to destroy anyone. I'm not going to devour his soul. Mordred has a chance for redemption—slight as it may be. He has been led astray, but it is not impossible to lead him onto a just path."

"And exactly _how_ are you going to do that?" Patrick inquired dryly.

"The same way all the other lost souls become found—listen to and carry out their last wish—their dying wish," Arthur explained shortly.

"You shouldn't try to be a hero," the raven haired demon admonished. "It's not in your job description." Stepping behind Arthur, the elder began to stroke the white feathers with the back of his fingers, smirking when he found that it left behind a trace of black. A white feather tinged entirely with black fell in front of Arthur's feet. "You can use the last of my powers. Then I shall be erased with Mordred. You're the Devil, but I think it's time you actually become one—a real devil—merciless, ruthless, and exact."

"That's what you want," Arthur murmured. "That's what you've wanted all those years ago."

"There's nothing wrong with it," Patrick assured. "We need a devil to stand on equal grounds with a god, after all."

"You're wrong," Arthur insisted, persisting, as he averted his gaze from Patrick. "You're wrong. I'm not as strong as the bloody _Maker_. I'm one of his own spawns, aren't I?"

"What? Is this _Paradise Lost_?" the raven haired demon spat sardonically with a subtle malicious intent. "You're the spawn of the entity known as Hades, who—in his own right—is a god, one of the Dark Realm, though his true name may have been forgotten after all of this time by all except for myself and Bridget—now simply Bridget. At any rate, Hades might have been the fallen son of the Maker, but you are not. You are his grandson. You are another generation. You have the potential to become Hades and the potential to become greater than Hades as well." Sighing, Patrick crossed his arms and stared directly at Arthur, locking their eyes together, refusing to break that contact until Arthur understood clearly what he meant. "Arthur, you must be confident in yourself. What does it mean for you to be a demon—to be a _devil_—never mind _the_ Devil, Hades? Otherwise, you'll never win over Mordred using whatever method you choose."

_You are still so very young._

Arthur kept his silence as he heard that omnipotent voice speak once more.

_You are still so very young, so you still have so much to learn, so much to understand, so much to know, and so much to experience_.

Arthur could feel the feathers disperse from his back. They scattered about the vicinity—tinged black and pure white—before slowly descending into a pool at Arthur's feet. Suddenly, he felt himself drop. He didn't have the time to scream because he was already plummeting to the Surface World. His thoughts emptied, and all he saw was white.

_It is fine to keep going at it slowly._

* * *

Vash backed away from the growing tempest as it grew in size, scale, and strength as his eyes widened in horror. Lili, he thought feverishly the moment his back pressed against the railing of the bridge. He had to warn Lili! He had to save Lili! He had to get her out of there—make a runaway—escape from London! The creatures of the Underworld—succubi, incubi, vampires, revenants, and werewolves—all laid strewn in the eye of the storm. There was no way to approach them, and there was no way to quell this violent tempest as it grew more and more powerful. He had recited every verse he knew in every language he knew, and he had even thrown holy water aimlessly at where he believed the invisible entity to be. Nevertheless, the strength didn't seem to die at all. Rather, it seemed to become more and more agitated. Vash would have as well if someone was testing his patience.

A flash of light in the darkening sky caught his attention. Lightning? Vash questioned to only himself. Had the storm spread throughout the entirety of London already? His green eyes widened momentarily as he realised that there was a spark of light streaming towards him like a shooting star—a meteor. He wondered then if that was the end of the line for him, for all of them. Nobody could possibly withstand a falling star even if he or she was an otherworldly creature.

As it approached closer and closer to the eye of the storm, he could hear a piercing whistle shrill through the atmosphere, ripping and shredding the air to penetrate his ears. No longer able to focus his eyes upon the sight of the falling star, Vash shut his eyes, awaiting for the asteroidal impact, squeezing them tightly. A blast of light pried his green eyes open, however, and when he peered through a crack, Vash managed to catch sight of a flurry of white feathers falling onto earth like freshly fallen snow. A devastating tremor caused the earth beneath his feet to shake, yet the bridge did not collapse underneath them. Blinking to regain his bearings, Vash caught sight of newly formed cracks on the bridge though there was no large crater.

"What in blazes...?"

Arthur rolled his shoulders, popping his dislocated joints back into their proper places, and stretched the muscles underneath his shoulder blades, expanding his broad white wings. His eyelids fluttered before gradually peeling open as his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the night, revealing deep dark vertical slits in the place of his pupils as well as a vast Aegean Sea flooding the whites of his eyes with its emerald waters. His button shirt was in tatters with tears in the back, and his trousers were ripped from his rough landing while his combative boots appeared only slightly worn. His eyes fell over the scene in front of him as he scanned for any conscious person among the fallen. He wasn't sure how he had gotten there. He had planned with arriving with his brothers by flight, but he supposed this would also work.

"You did this?" Arthur asked of the dark phantom in front of him. His lips thinned into a grim line as he observed and monitored the figure of a young man—barely out of his adolescent age—curl into a ball, assuming a foetal position. He was afraid, panicked, to the point that he had forgotten about his control over the shadows. Rather, he had forgotten everything and was overwhelmed by his emotions just like any other lost soul. Arthur pitied him who had nothing else to which he could cling aside from his aunt and mother's dead wish. "You've been weakened, but you refuse to fall."

"I cannot fall—not until I have my revenge," Mordred insisted stubbornly.

"To what end?" the blond responded with a tone of exasperation. "We are all worn and weary, Mordred. Years of hatred have surely exhausted me, yet you still do not tire? What will satisfy you, Mordred?"

"Do you surrender?"

"Did I say that I surrender?" Arthur snapped bitterly. Protesting, he remarked, "Surrender or not, I merely want an end, so tell me, what is it that you wish?"

"Thy death!" Mordred cried. "Give me thy life, Uncle! For my dead mother and my dear deceased aunt, for thy late sisters, give me thy life! Let me quench and satisfy this thirst for vengeance!"

Arthur's eyes flashed dangerously. "I cannot give you my life, Mordred," he declared firmly, "but I can see your flickering soul. I can see that it's wavering, my dear nephew. Did you not wait for this moment, Mordred? What ails you now? Is it not your win?"

"Thou speakest of lies."

"I utter nothing of the sort—only what I see. You cannot fool me any more than what you've already done in the past. Speak now, and all of this can end."

"I feel not the taste of victory," Mordred answered forlornly. "What is this dissatisfaction? I understand it not. I understand naught, Uncle." A hand pressed against part of his face in a half-hearted attempt to hide his distress. "Uncle, I don't understand. What is this feeling? 'Tis not fear. 'Tis not sadness. 'Tis nothing but disappointment—but why?"

"There is no place for the dead among the living, Mordred," Arthur explained. "You can stay here all you want, but you shall never walk among them again. Morgan le Fay and Morgause are no longer here. You can please and appeal to them all you want now, but they can no longer hear your cries, you miserable child. What can my death amend now? Nothing. It fills nothing. It fixes nothing. You will still wander the Surface World aimlessly, Mordred, with or without my death—forever lost, forever stranded. You have no place here, no home. Camelot is no more, Mordred. The Battle of Camlann was a mistake that should never be repeated. These men you've harmed will survive—all of them—and I shall make sure of that. You, on the other hand, must return to whence you have come." Arthur made motions to pull a sword out of thin air, and tiny particles of light gathered into his hand and travelled upwards to form the base of the blade before bursting, revealing Excalibur. The sword, even in the darkest of hour, glowed with a silvery light. Holding up two fingers, Arthur brushed over his blade with his blue flames, enchanting the weapon to be able to reach the phantom of his former nephew. "I'll save you, poor unfortunate soul, from your aimless drifting and wandering. You will no longer have to feel muddled or conflicted. I _will_ save you."

"No!" cried Mordred as fear flashed in his eyes. "No, no, no, _no_! Do not approach me with that accursed sword! Do not get closer, Uncle!" Mordred, almost forgetting that he was a spectre, collapsed to the ground in terror and crawled away from Arthur. In a thoughtless panic, he reached to grasp one of the fallen swords on the ground, but his fingers phased through the hilt. "No, no, no, no, no..." he chanted over and over again. Memories he thought he had long forgotten flashed through his mind. The sound of metal clashing with metal, the sound of blades lacerating flesh, the sound of horror and terror, haunted him greater than how any phantom could haunt an innocent child. Arthur's gaze fell upon him in pity. Mordred realised then that all he ever was to his uncle was a child—a child to be saved—yet, as another memory surfaced in his mind, he refused to be felled by Arthur's hand for a second time. "I don't need your saving!"

* * *

The last thing Lovino remembered was telling his brother not to bother him. He was going to take a well-deserved _siesta_ with the kids. He recalled collapsing on the sofa even though he would prefer to take a _siesta_ outside in the sun—not that fucking England had much sun anyway because it would much rather rain the moment Lovino stepped outside. Lovino wasn't quite sure how to work the teleportation pentacle on the front door and refused to mess with his fiancé's magic gimmicks in the possibility that he would err.

Now he was nowhere near home. Perhaps this was a dream. It was the only logical explanation. Still, why would he dream of some mediaeval village? Lovino had never had that sort of dream before, and even in secondary school he was never quite enthralled by history lessons. Nevertheless, he kept silent as he roamed the village since he was dressed in modern clothes, hoping that nobody would stare at him for too long. He knew enough history to remember about the widespread practice of witch hunting, and if he uttered so much a misplaced word, it could be his head that they might be after. Even if this was a dream, Lovino didn't need a nightmare.

Additionally, it seemed that he didn't need to worry about attracting attention. Nobody noticed him. Nobody even glanced his way for a few seconds. Instead, they carried on with their routines as though he was a phantom they could not see. Every single villager continued their actions fervently and feverishly with joy and delight in their features. Children laughed and giggled as they engaged in play while their mothers and fathers prepared grand feasts and colourful cloths. Judging by the decoration adorning the realm, Lovino assumed there was some kind of celebration. Upon sighting a castle in the distance, Lovino decided to head there with only a feeling from his gut as the only lead with a slight hope that he would get some answers to his questions.

Slipping past the guards stationed there with ease (rather, it appeared that they couldn't see him), Lovino marched down the long and empty corridors decorated with empty armours, colourful banners, and ancient relics and heirlooms. He followed the path laid for him by the endless crimson carpet embroidered with golden threads. It reminded him of Arthur's royal apparel that he wore during extremely formal meetings with the castle or when he had to address the entirety of the Dark Realm. After passing through a pair of large, elegant doors that opened with a flood of busy maids, Lovino found himself situated in the middle of an audience chamber with the reigning monarch. Whom he found there astonished him to no end.

A scrawny little boy no more than twelve years old sat at the throne. It seemed that his skin was scrubbed to flawlessness due to the slight red tinge burning his alabaster complexion hiding behind a collar much too tall for his neck and sleeves a bit too long for his arms. Rather, it appeared that he loathed the royal garments. His bright emerald eyes were muddled with a disdain he failed to keep hidden, and a childish pout tarnished his pale lips. He struggled to hold a sceptre far too grand for a boy of his stature upright, proven by the fidgeting of his fingers and the red colouring his sweaty palms, and constantly switched it between his hands lest it collapse onto the ground. Even as a king, the boy was faintly aware that he would be reprimanded for letting a royal symbol fall like that. Still, Lovino had to admire him for his perseverance. If it had been him, the spectre—royal symbol or not—would have been laying on the floor in favour of a slice of pizza.

There was no doubt in his mind that this boy is Arthur—but not quite the Arthur Kirkland with whom he was in love. Rather, he was a boy who had just became known as Arthur Pendragon, the boy who had pulled the sword out of the stone and became Britannia's one true king.

"Arthur, my boy!" exclaimed a voice from the door. However, when Lovino turned his head, he saw nothing. Instead, a gust of wind blew forth and disturbed the stationary decorations within the audience chamber. Arthur held onto the crown that was far too heavy and far too big for his head—else he would risk it falling to the floor and would be scolded for that instead—and attempted to juggle the two royal adornments in his scrawny arms.

"Merlin!" he blurted out incredulously. "Merlin, wouldst thou lend me thine aid? They expect me to be _king_, Merlin!"

"Who, lad?" And from the winds materialised an elderly man with a tall but thin stature. He donned the robes of a scholar coloured a midnight blue with a pair of rounded spectacles framed by metal wires that seemed like something of an anachronism. If this was the fifth or sixth century, Lovino doubted that eyeglasses had yet been invented. Nevertheless, the Italian realised, the elder had formed from a gust of wind like a sorcerer of sorts. Arthur had also called him Merlin, and if this was the same Merlin of whom Lovino was thinking, then it would be no surprise if the sorcerer had travelled several hundred years into the future to correct his vision.

"Everyone!" Arthur exclaimed with pure and utter exasperation. He pointed accusingly past the double doors and cried, "Everyone out there! I am just a petty squire! What do I know about ruling a kingdom?"

"Calm thyself, lad," Merlin responded collectedly, placing a fatherly hand upon Arthur's shoulder in an act of comfort and assurance. He smiled sagely and reminded the young blond, "Do not forget thy lessons—the very lessons I myself have taught thee."

Then, just like as if Lovino was watching television, the two figures became unstable, growing transparent, before vanishing into two forms of static flashing with white noise. The Italian backed away from the sight as horror burned in his stomach before crawling up his throat like acrid bile. He forced it from creeping to his exterior, upholding his brave front, even if his eyes couldn't refrain from expressing his terror. This had to be a dream. This couldn't be real. This couldn't be happening.

"Arthur!" he cried, reaching out for the younger, more childish version of his lover. His fingers slipped through the black and white, monochromatic static as though Arthur himself was a phantom now. A wave of vertigo washed over him as he thought of his dead brother whom he could no longer touch. Fear overwhelmed him, but before it could fully possess and take over the brunet, solid fingers laced with his own. Lovino's eyes snapped open at that moment as he met with Arthur's gentle, comforting smile filled with warmth and tenderness. He was still very much in the form of the twelve year old boy Lovino had been observing, and his emeralds then showed signs of confusion regarding whom Lovino was and why he was standing in front of him. Nevertheless, Arthur smiled before dissipating in glowing white particles that lifted into the sky like luminescent butterflies.

A wave of light flooded the area as though to erase the previous scene, and Lovino nearly stumbled onto his behind from the surprise. His hazel eyes widened as he found Mordred's figure standing tall over that of Arthur, who knelt on the ground, worn and weary, clearly exhausted from battle. The Druid pointed a rapier Lovino recognised as Clarent at Arthur's heart, obviously hellbent and intent on thrusting the point into his chest. "Loyalty, loyalty," Arthur chanted mockingly, "loyalty only to her, my sister, Morgan le Fay; is that not what she demands? Is that all that thou knowst, child? Canst thou not think for thyself?"

"Silence!" Mordred demanded though his own expression looked pain. "Thou hast stolen thy own sister's birthright! Thou art a traitor and a thief!"

"Who hath told thee that? My sisters, doubtless," Arthur responded with a wry, knowing grin. "Then slay me—not for my sisters and your aunt and mother—but for thy beliefs. With thy own conviction, fell me with thy blade and end my life and my reign as King of Camelot and Ruler of Britannia. Take for thyself my blood, Nephew. Hast thou the mettle?"

With a shrill cry and a burst of fury, Mordred brought down the rapier to pierce Arthur's heart, and with a rush of courage, Lovino allowed the wind to carry him to Arthur's side. Just as Clarent was about to lacerate Arthur's flesh, the brunet's eyes widened momentarily as the blade phased through his own body as though it was nothing but air. That was when Lovino realised that it was not that everybody else was like a spectre, a phantom and ghost; rather, it was Lovino who was the spectre, the phantom and ghost, who did not even exist in this period of time.

Instead of covering Arthur just as he had wanted, Lovino laid behind him, sprawled on the blades of grass stained crimson. The rapier punctured Arthur's side instead of his chest, but the blood continued to spill from his wounds, pooling at his feet, endlessly after Mordred withdrew the blade. The weapon clattered against the ground, and the dark knight himself was aghast and appalled with his own crimes, merely staring at his wounded uncle in horror when he realised that Arthur hadn't bothered fighting back—perhaps to prove a point to his poor nephew. Looking over the hilltop, he choked in abhorrence as repulsion climbed up his throat. Leaning over the side, he vomited. No survivors. Only seven—all of whom were severely injured—all of whom were Arthur's knights—were still alive.

A weak cry escaped from Lovino's lips as he perceived his own failure to protect his lover. Perhaps in a vain attempt, he threw his arms around Arthur, sobbing his apologies, and it took him by surprise when he found that he was able to make contact with the knight king whose mousy locks caught the vibrant golden rays of the sun. Lovino lifted his head in surprise as pearl tears rolled down his olive cheeks, leaving behind a wet trail that glistened in the light of the setting sun.

His hazel eyes locked together with Arthur's emeralds, and the fallen warrior merely smiled at him. "All will be okay," he promised as the green of his emeralds shimmered brightly before a glass covering coated them. Liquid emerald rocked back and forth, ebbing uncontrollably and violently, before spilling past the brims of his eyes. "Everything will be fine, luv." Arthur grasped Lovino's hands tightly and wrapped his hands around a firm handle—the hilt of the rapier, Clarent. "May it be years, decades, or centuries from now, everything will be okay." Like before, the knight grew transparent before dissipating into glowing particles of white light. With his last breath, he stood on his legs shakily, grasping onto the hilt of Excalibur tightly, as he struggled to where Mordred laid on all fours.

"Arthur!" Lovino choked on his name as he cried for his lover repeatedly. He clutched Clarent to his chest, the blond's warm blood still dripping from the blade of the rapier, as he begged and pleaded for the blond to return to him—not to die—but soon Lovino was surrounded by only darkness with only the rapier as his company. Light footsteps echoed in the dark void before someone knelt beside him. He caught sight of an elegant green gown made of expensive fabrics and threads. From the corner of his eyes, he noticed several strands of softly curled golden brown hair cascading past frail shoulders. His eyes fell upon Guinevere, who gave him a sympathetic smile.

"It is time," she declared softly. "History is repeating itself. Mordred and Arthur are yet at battle once again. Once, long ago, I could do naught. I wonder if this soul of mine is cursed with such a fate—to be useless to my king."

"You're really pissing me off right now, bitch," Lovino grumbled with a wry smile. The Italian was faintly aware that he was being unfair to her, but after witnessing the catalyst to Arthur's "death," reminding him so much of seven years ago, he didn't care any more. "Now that I think about it, so what if you would have made a terrible warrior or a poor shot? I wonder, if you had at least tried, even if it meant breaking traditional roles, then things would have been different. Now you're just pushing your regrets on me. I'm not you. I may have the same soul as you did, but I'm not you." Lovino brought himself to his feet and lifted Clarent to point at her chest. She merely watched him carefully as he continued to speak. "I wasn't put under some damn spell, and if I was, it sure as hell isn't working. Nobody can accuse me of adultery. I don't know how much you trusted Arthur or how much he trusted you, but I trust him more than anyone else in the world. I have faith in that damn trust. Arthur and I went through hell together seven years ago, so I can hardly be afraid of anything else any more after all of that shit. I've learnt three years ago that waiting for someone to return is one hell of a damn challenge, but I'm tired of waiting.

"I can't be like you. I'm not like you. I'm not you. I'm a fucking Vargas. I'm Lovino Vargas, dammit. My grandfather could see the souls of both people and daemons, and I have a demon's—not just any demon, the fucking _Devil's—_blood running through my veins because I almost died once—for the second or third time, actually. I have the curse known as immortality, and I'm to spend eternity with a tea-drinking bastard. Who the hell do you think I am? Your copy? Fuck that! History is _not_ going to repeat itself, dammit! It's already diverged so much!"

She only smiled. "That is all I have ever wanted, Lovino." Guinevere grasped the blade of the rapier, and white particles broke away from her ethereal being from where it supposedly grazed her skin and flesh. "Thank you." With that, she dissipated and scattered like light beams that circled Lovino. In a blinding white light, Lovino's hazel eyes snapped open.

He shot upright from the sofa, holding a rapier tightly in his hands. The brunet nearly dropped the weapon from pure and utter shock and surprise until he recalled the remnants of his dreams. Hopping off the sofa, he hurried to step into his shoes in place of his house slippers and dash out of the door. Lovino didn't hear his brother cry out his name, nor did he realise that Feliciano had chased after him, requesting Kaelin and Peter to hold the fort. If it wasn't for Yao holding him back, reasoning that they have to reset the wards now that they've been broken, Kiku would have burst out of the door after his friend, his master's consort, and his master himself as well.

* * *

Arthur groaned in pain as Mordred's blade pierced him once again in the same place. Excalibur, at the same time, was driven into Mordred's abdomen while ignited with his brilliantly blue flames. The Druid's face was contorted with pain as the azure fire attempted to devour him. "No!" he cried desperately and despairingly. "No, no, no, _no_!" He tried keeping the blue flames at bay—but to no avail. Despite his persistence, they kept approaching him—closer and closer—until a wild, relentless burst of black dispelled them in one blast. Arthur cursed as he leapt back from the dark infusion before the black flames could swallow him and his sabre. However, he didn't take notice to the fact that one of the feathers in his wings had already turned black.

"Alistair, Owain, Seamus, you could _try_ to help now!" Arthur snapped at the brothers who had accompanied him, waiting impishly for their cue.

"I thought ye could handle this on your own," Alistair remarked before he lifted a hand in attempt to try to control the roaring black flames pouring from Mordred's rage. He grunted upon noticing that the darkness was even more difficult to control than he had thought previously and ended up raising another hand in order to ease the task. "At any rate, is your head full of barmy? Do ye know how bloody hard it is to regulate _another_ demon's flames?"

"This isn't a demon, Alistair," Owain reminded with a yawn as he did the same with both hands as well. The Welshman knew that, if his older brother had trouble managing the black fire and if his younger brother the king had trouble fighting the soul emitting them, this was no simple order. "We could at least mitigate the damage done."

"Easier said than done!" Seamus grunted as he struggled to keep up with all four of his older brothers. "What the bloody fuck is with this storm?"

"It's his current state of emotions, eejit!" Alistair snapped. "Makes the job even more difficult than it already is!"

"Stop your infernal whining, and just keep the damn flames at bay, you wankers!" Arthur hissed as he attempted to stand tall with his wounds and everything. With the way things were, it was difficult to heal his injuries. He would have to wait until after the battle. However, it has already been a little more than ten minutes, and there was no leeway for either party. He grimaced as a searing pain ran up his spine.

"Arthur!" Owain cried in surprise.

"What is it now?!"

"Your wings!"

"What about them?"

"They're _black_!" his three brothers chorused together in the same shock and astonishment.

"The bloody hell are you wankers talking about?" Arthur grumbled under his breath. Out of the corner of his eyes, he caught sight of a single black feather. A familiar sensation washed over him as though to bathe him with another's influence that reminded him eerily of Patrick. He cursed his luck but attempted to focus once more on Mordred's blurry figure. "W-What...?" He couldn't be this worn and weary already. He only suffered one wound. It wasn't even a fatal wound. It shouldn't be a fatal wound. Arthur wasn't mortal any more. He barely noticed the blue flames cast upon Excalibur dying into a pitch black. "You _fucker_," he hissed, realising what was happening, "_Patrick_." I don't need your bloody help, the Demon King insisted as he tried pushing back the darkness devouring his own life essence—even if it was for a moment—but soon he was unable to tell which flames were predominant, which flames were controlling him.

"Thief! Traitor!" He could barely hear Mordred cry out whilst pointing a shaky finger at Arthur. "Demon! Fiend! Thou art but a fallen king!"

"Arthur, control yourself! It's hard enough dealing with him!" Alistair barked at his younger brother.

_What_? Arthur questioned. He attempted to regain focus, but he just couldn't. He didn't understand what was happening around him. Everything was a blur. Everything was black—pitch black as the midnight sky—and everything was a haze. I'm not doing anything—or so he thought.

"What the hell are you doing, you tea-drinking British bastard?!"

Arthur vaguely felt a pair of arms wrap around his neck, bringing his face into the crook of someone's neck. He inhaled sharply, breathing in the homely scent of fresh tomatoes and rich spices, before finding himself smiling subconsciously. It's so bloody _warm_... he mused to himself, indulging in the tenderness of the embrace like a cradled child, as he pulled—ah, yes, of course—his dear lover closer. A part of him wondered what Lovino was doing here, vaguely concerned, while a part of him was entirely relieved because Lovino was here—because of his mere presence. If only the Italian thought the same way, then there was nothing about which to worry. However, Lovino was _not_ relieved—quite the opposite, actually.

When he had arrived at the scene, all Four Lords and their vassals were collapsed on the bridge. The exorcist Lovino had encountered with his brother and fiancé stood there, shell-shocked, while his brother-in-laws were struggling to counter the black flames pouring out of the spectre—all in the midst of a wild, violent storm that would sooner or later tear apart the city if it had not already done so. From what he had noticed, the miasma had began to affect Arthur as well. His beautiful white wings that were as pure and untainted as snow began to fade into an eerie pitch black, and his mousy blond hair was tinged to a faint scarlet with several strands stained with the same darkness coating the white feathers of his wings. His bright emeralds had dulled considerably, and the light in his eyes was fleeting—faint—_dim_.

The Italian had known immediately that Arthur had dragged out this battle for far too long, and, according to his own assumptions, due to the exposure to the miasma Mordred emitted, it had began to have negative effects on the Briton. Although Lovino knew that he probably had no power in current circumstances to repel such darkness, he couldn't possibly stand by and do nothing either. He had thrown his arms around Arthur, pleading and begging the blond to return back to normal. The Briton could win this fight—but not in this state—and Arthur was a _bastardo idiota_ if he thought he could.

When a pair of arms slipped around his waist, Lovino had half the mind to pull away from Arthur in order to check on his mental and physical state, yet he didn't. Instead, he tightened the hold with which he embraced the blond and muttered, "Why the fuck do you always have to make me worry about you, you no-good _stronzo_?"

"Trouble might be the only thing I'm good for," Arthur responded cheekily as the darkness began to fade from his eyes. He laced his fingers together with Lovino, smiling when tiny blue flames lit on the pads of Lovino's fingers like candlelights, before they travelled up Arthur's arm in trails of blue light. Lovino could feel the warmth radiate from within his core, leaving the tips of his fingers, as the azure fire burned away the black coat staining Arthur's existence, purifying the darkness weighing down his white feathers. "Since when did you learn how to do that?"

Lovino merely shrugged. "Hell if I know," he replied tersely. Stretching out a hand, he summoned forth a silver rapier in the same fashion as how Arthur summoned Excalibur. The sword materialised from particles of light out of thin air, the hilt fitting perfectly within Lovino's palm, as the Italian remarked, "The same way as I don't know how the crap I did that either."

"Well, then again, it is as expected from a Vargas," Arthur retorted with a soft smile on his lips that only Lovino could see. The blue flames burst upon the completion of Arthur's purification. "Or maybe it's just you."

"What do you mean, bastard? Stop talking in puzzles and spit it out already, dammit."

"Of course, but not now—later." Arthur lifted his eyes to focus on the miasma pouring from Mordred's lost soul. The dark phantom was no longer even a humanoid figure. Instead, he had lost his entire rationale and was merely a shadow. "If we don't stop him, the storm is only going to grow worse, and it could possibly carry out the miasma, which is dangerous on a person's mental health. Being exposed to all of this negativity would only possess people to do unimaginable things."

"Unimaginable things?" Lovino repeated incredulously.

"Let's simply leave it at that for now," Arthur insisted with a wry grin settled on his lips. It was grim and sombre. "You could open up your old history textbooks when we get home, and I could point out a few examples of miasma outbreaks later. Right now, you're going to have to help me purify him." He noticed how Lovino's eyes widened in disbelief. "Don't worry, spitfire. You can do it. You've already helped me, haven't you? You did it once, so you can do it again." Arthur turned to his brothers and told them to keep maintaining the flames before focusing his attention on the exorcist. He gave Vash Zwingli a polite smile and remarked, "Thanks for coming out here. I didn't want to get a human involved, but we had no choice. Please, keep on reciting those scriptures. It'll help contain this bloody idiot while we try to expedite his purification process." He didn't give the Swiss exorcist a chance to respond. Instead, he returned his attention to Mordred's ghastly form. "We should have done this centuries ago, my boy. I apologise for the long wait."

By now, Mordred was unable to respond as the remainder of his fading, dying soul melted into the miasma as it consumed him entirely, distorting his senses and skewing his perceptions, like a poison that gradually killed him little by little. It pained Arthur to see him like this, rendered into nothing evermore from the bright boy he once was, lost in a dark abyss without a home to which to return. As though sensing his distress and sharing the same anxiety, Lovino intertwined his fingers together with Arthur's. Blue light crawled from the cracks between their fingers and began to appear in the creaks and crevices within the bridge, inching bit by bit towards the source of the dark storm that had began to ravage the City of London.

The blue light burst forth from the cracks like a transparent wall, shining particles of iridescent dust glimmering underneath the reflective light of the moon, circling the source of the venomous corruption, before erupting into tall walls of blue flames that burned brightly and stubbornly. As though it was a living creature, it swallowed Mordred's core, attempting to burn at the poison intoxicating his soul, before it imploded on itself. The blackness seeped through the azure defence, making Arthur grunt in aggravation. Black flames shot forth, hurling every which way, and Arthur immediately covered Lovino, bearing his back towards Mordred, and shielded him with his wings.

"_Fratello_! Artù!"

"Feliciano?!" Arthur exclaimed.

"W-What?" someone groaned from the ground. Arthur instantaneously glanced at his surroundings and found most of his knights stirring from their loss of consciousness. Ludwig managed to turn his head a slight fraction of an angle and raise his eyes to see what was happening. Gilbert was struggling to stand on his feet, pushing himself onto his knees, while Elizaveta and Roderich were crawling towards each other to hold and comfort. In the meanwhile, Mathias was barely sitting. His body was propped on the side by his arm—his one and only arm—the other having been thrown quite a distance away from his body—and his right ankle was twisted at an impressive and repulsive degree to the point where his bone protruded from his dead but not decaying flesh. His own clan members were stuck in a similar fashion with missing limbs and twisted parts. Francis rested on his back, moaning with pain, as he turned his head slightly to peer at the recent events and gauge the current circumstances although his visage was contorted with pain. Julchen, Marianne, and Isabel sat against each other to remain upright though it appeared as though their breathing was awfully ragged from having exerted their strength in order to sit. Ivan supported his body with his iron pipe and, at the same time, supported his sisters, who leant against him, worn and weary.

"Ve, please stop this! Please! Just... Just stop!" the Italian phantom pleaded with his fellow spectre as he soared through the sky, flying to the Druid's side, hovering over the dark mess. "You don't have to do this any more! _Capisco_! I understand! You're lonely, right? I'm lonely, too! I died not too long ago, so you might have felt this way longer than me because, even though I'm lonely, I'm not alone. You don't have anyone left because you lived a long time ago, _sì_? They're all gone, too, and you can't find them. You don't know where they are. I know that the first thing I did was look for my _fratello_. I'm sure you miss your _mamma e papà_. I do, too, because they died a long time ago, ve, but even like this I can't meet them..." Feliciano sighed momentarily, mournfully, in memory of his parents and grandparents. "You know, Arthur keeps telling me that there's no place for the dead in the Realm of the Living. I think that's true. We can't live any more because we're dead, and it's hard to feel alive. He says we're here because we have something left to do. I know that I want my _fratello_ to be happy; I can't pass onto the next life or the afterlife without knowing that he's happy and at peace, ve. I heard you wanted to kill Artù, and that his death was the purpose why you're still here. I don't think that's true because you've escaped from the afterlife, right? Technically, you had a place to go after you've died, but you left it _not_ because you had a propose to fulfil. Ve, I think killing Artù was your aunt's purpose—not yours.

"I think you _wanted_ a purpose of your own, and I think Artù was trying to help you find one. That way, you can return to your afterlife peacefully. You were lonely, weren't you? You didn't know anyone except for Artù, and you wanted to see him. You wanted to feel like you were alive again, but it didn't work. I know it didn't for me. I made new friends, and I saw new forms of art... Even though it made me happy, I knew that it would have been better to feel the carvings of the pillars, to ask about the colours of the paintings, to taste my brother's cooking, even just to smell it, to play with the children, to sit down and talk with my new friends... I think you wanted that, too, ve, but you didn't get it in the afterlife.

"You know, I think we've been down here for long enough—the two of us—ve... Maybe it's time for us to go back where we belong. It's difficult, isn't it?" Glimmering white lights rolled down Feliciano's cheeks freely like drops of tears while sparkling in the light of the moon. He didn't bother to hide his sobs, and he choked on them a few times as he endeavoured to speak, to persuade Mordred, his fellow spectre, another phantom, another ghost, another lost soul. "Ve, killing Arthur isn't any way to make yourself feel better. It's not what _you_ wanted at all, and it would make you feel even lonelier because he's all you have—even if you hate him or not. Before we go, can't you just tell everyone—tell _us_—what you _really _wanted?"

The darkness dissolved into black dust that scattered in the wind like soot and ash, bringing with it a sense of death and decay, of solemnity and sobriety, grieving and grave, unveiling the Druid whose eyes dripped with the same white light as Feliciano. He appeared more like his age now—childish and lost—innocent and afraid—naive and reckless. All traces of hate vanquished from his visage as his lips quivered with regret and sorrow. "I wanted a father," he cried. "King Arthur was all I had. My mother hardly raised me, and all she and Morgan le Fay ever taught me was to hate King Arthur. I wondered why all the time, and soon it was all I believed because I had pledged loyalty to her and only to Morgan... I only trusted her word. She was all I had as I grew older, but when I died, I remembered everything from my childhood—my loneliness, my sadness—and blamed it all on King Arthur and Morgan le Fay and even my own mother and their sister Elaine. I was angry at them; I was envious of the children who had loving parents even if they were from a poor background. They had a normal family, and that is the best kind of family. I wanted revenge, but at the same time I did not. I never wanted things to be this way. I never wanted anything but a mother and a father—parents—family. I am dreadfully sorry—awfully sorry—terribly sorry. I'm so, so, _so_ sorry!"

He cried and wailed and sobbed and bawled like a lost child—lost in his path, lost in darkness—suffering an ageless curse that had been instilled within his core from the moment of his birth. It was a curse that had been nurtured throughout his upbringing and even after his death, lasting centuries even after the collapse of several kingdoms and the fall of many empires, and a curse that Arthur had failed to dispel himself. His tears broke their spirits, and they could do nothing but watch as Feliciano attempted to comfort the boy because nobody else could touch him—either of them, really. The two of them were spectres and understood each other the best, the suffering and the fleeting spells of happiness.

In a rupture of white light, he had exhausted all of his energy and was revealed to be a small, flickering golden flame burning intensely and desperately to rid itself of its black curse. Arthur smiled softly and reached for the golden soul—_Marcellus_, Arthur realised after centuries have passed, the name of the soul Morgan le Fay had attempted to suppress and oppress. An image of a young boy with bright green eyes and rich chestnut tresses from centuries ago flashed in his mind, and the King immediately regretted not being present throughout Mordred's upbringing. "It's all right, lad," the blond assured quietly—so quietly nobody else could hear him—as he brought the flame to his chest as though enveloping the child in an embrace. "Everything is all right. You won't be lonely any more. Morgan le Fay's curse is broken at long last, and you'll be on your way home to a kind, loving family with a warm, cosy home."

"Artù!" Feliciano exclaimed then and there at that moment. He stretched out his hand, seemingly more transparent than ever before, as though to reach out for Mordred's soul. "It's time for us to go."

"You're not staying?" Lovino blurted out as tears brimmed his eyes, but he willed them not to fall—to remain strong, if not for himself, for his brother.

"I can't, _Fratello_. I'm not alive any more, remember?" Feliciano responded reluctantly with a wry smile on his lips. "I want to stay, and I wish that I could... But I can't, ve." The golden flames hovered into Feliciano's hand as soon as the Italian phantom began to dissolve into particles of white light. The crimson tinge from his eyes faded into the familiar amber orbs with which everyone was acquainted. "_Arrivederci, Fratello, Artù_! Until next time!"

"Feliciano!" Lovino cried, reaching out for his brother. Just soon as his hand closed into the phantom, his younger brother dispersed into iridescent photons that faded into the night sky. A white flame took Feliciano's place before rocketing into the River Vitae together with the golden flame. Lovino's eyes widened in surprise, and a few tears seized the opportunity to slip down his cheeks. His heart dropped into his stomach, stopping entirely, as he realised what had just happened. "Feliciano..." he croaked out in a raspy cry, "Feliciano...?" A momentary rage overtook him as he shrieked desperately, "You _bastard_! Come back here! I'm not done saying goodbye! Hey, Feliciano! _Feliciano_!" The others pulled their gazes away from the mourning brother respectfully and politely as Lovino called for his brother to return from the Heavens. The brunet was pulled into Arthur's chest, who wrapped his arms protectively around his lover, as the Briton coaxed him into submission. He stroked Lovino's hair tenderly and gingerly as though Lovino could crack and break any moment now. Nobody would be surprised if that was the case.

Feliciano had finally left them and passed onto his next life.

* * *

**A/N:** There's only two more chapters and the epilogue. This story is significantly shorter than its prequel, but this isn't quite the end - not yet, at least.

_"Loyalty, loyalty, loyalty only to her," _is a reference to a line of Heather Dale's song, _Mordred's Lullaby_. (The actual line is"Loyalty, loyalty, loyalty only to me.") It is sung from the perspective of Morgan le Fay in the context of her being Mordred's mother and Mordred being Arthur's illegitimate son.

Also, from the prequel, Patrick had severely injured Arthur with his last attack that penetrated him in the chest. If you recall, his flames poisoned Arthur, making it so that Arthur remained in a recuperative comatose state. I figured it would be lingering in his being for a while before disappearing completely in one burst like a dormant volcano or a lysogenic virus.

Rest in Peace, Feliciano?


	10. Chapter 9

**IX: A Cause for Celebration**

"Are you sure about this?" Elizaveta asked Lovino one last time in the chambers the Scribe had organised for them. "Your brother... Feliciano, well..." She averted her gaze guiltily as remorse filled her beautiful features. Being a hellhound and a member of Kerberos, she knew how often people died. After all, she was one of the people who was sent to retrieve them whenever they wandered after their passing. Then as a daemon, Elizaveta was well aware of how short the life of a human was, but that never made seeing them depart any better. Rather, the knowledge of the longevity of a human lifespan sometimes intensified the bitter sting. "Isn't it too early?" the werewolf inquired of the bridegroom. In a few moments, Lovino would be the prince consort wedded to the King of the Underworld, but only a few weeks ago he was grieving the permanent loss of his younger brother. Elizaveta wasn't sure if that was enough time for mourning.

"Arthur said that his ability doesn't include the knowledge of a soul's destination if they are exorcised and erased or after it returns to the River Vitae," Lovino responded with a wry smile, "but that doesn't mean that Feliciano's never coming back to me. Knowing the idiot, he probably landed himself a spot in God's paradise if he didn't get lost while I'm stuck here." He spoke with a joking tone, gesturing towards the window. Outside, the skies were as dark as ever with only a red moon to illuminate the sky—but only if it wasn't covered with the soot coloured wisps called clouds that passed occasionally with a solemn zephyr blowing throughout the Dark Realm. "It might not be so bad to stay here every once in a while though—even though it's just a bit gloomy and shit." His eyes softened when he noticed that Elizaveta still wasn't smiling. "Hey, cheer up," Lovino requested awkwardly as he scratched the back of his neck, wondering if he had chosen the wrong words to say to her. "Listen, Elizaveta, Feliciano... Felici said that he wanted to see me happy, right? Usually, _usually_, aren't weddings _happy_ events? I think he would want this. He's been waiting for this day longer than _I_ have, you know, ever since I introduced him to Arthur. He never got to see this day though, so I can't keep putting it off—not any more. Felici would probably keep being disappointed if I did."

Elizaveta's face brightened ever so slightly. She nodded her head in agreement and blinked away her tears. "You're right," she chirped merrily as she fixed her dress. It was a strapless piece with a black floral lace bodice that extended into a thin layer of a gauze-like fabric draped over a white satin skirt which was hemmed with the same black floral lace. White satin evening gloves laced with a black ribbon stretched to her elbows while sheer black stockings and strap heels with white flowers defined her slender legs. The same white flowers as the kind on her heels adorned her brown hair, which was softly curled to perfection, and a single jewel necklace was strung around her neck. "I need to compose myself."

"Still," Lovino glanced over her attire, "I never expected such a Gothic wedding—not that I'm complaining, dammit. It's as good as any other wedding as long as I don't have to wear a fucking dress."

"It's because we're in the Underworld," Elizaveta mused with a giggle. "Any other colours would stand out too much. It'd be a little strange to have a bridesmaid wearing coral pink down here, but, you know, your clothing is pretty normal."

Lovino shrugged his shoulders, which was nearly impossible because of the stiffness of his suit, and made himself shrink ever so slightly by stuffing his hands into the pockets of his black tailcoat, which was left unbuttoned over an ivory waistcoat made of a glossy fabric the same kind as the ivory tie fitted snugly around the collar of his white shirt. The black trousers were tailored perfectly to his legs, and the pair of Oxfords were polished to perfection. All of them items he wore were, of course, Italian brand names. Already, as Gilbert had teased him, Lovino was filling the role of a housewife; rather, that very role probably suited him well.

The door opened within that moment, and Marianne, Julchen, and Isabel slipped into the chamber wearing matching dresses. They all wore black dresses with a dark crimson corset that laced in the back with a black satin bow and a frilled skirt that had added volume from the wine red petticoats underneath it. Long, dark sleeves adorned with lace and ribbons covered their arms while mini top hats made of black satin, a dark crimson band, and white flowers were perched upon their heads. Like Elizaveta, they all wore sheer black stockings and strap heels that donned white flowers to match the ones on their hats. They gave Lovino an encouraging smile and raised their hands to indicate ten minutes.

"We'll get going then," Julchen informed the bridegroom promptly before taking Elizaveta by the hand and pushing her to the front. "Good luck! Don't trip!"

Marianne laughed. "I think that goes for all of us, Julchen!" she mused aloud.

Lovino gulped from the sudden pressure and anxiety, but he returned his bridesmaids' gleeful smiles to the best of his ability. His flirting habits were momentarily forgotten in the midst of his bout of nervousness. (He hadn't dropped them a compliment in the short time they visited him.) A knock on his door alerted him to another guest, and Lovino called for him/her to enter. The door parted to reveal Antonio, who was dressed in a simple black and white three-piece suit with a red tie decorated with tomatoes that appeared so out of place in such a Gothic wedding, escorted by Gilbert, who was dressed in a morning suit like the other ushers, as a form of security, seeing that the Spaniard was still very much human.

However, Antonio had carelessly made a deal with Gilbert a few months back, stating that, should he ever die, he would become a werewolf and, together with the rest of Kerberos, spend nights drinking away so that he could always be friends with the daemons he had befriended. That deal had actually meant something to Gilbert who wanted a big and growing family, and it practically sealed Antonio's fate despite how much Lovino lectured—or screamed—at the two idiots. Apparently, if one of the Four Lords had an eye on a particularly peculiar human, such as Antonio, there was no guarantee that he/she would be allowed to live as a human in his/her next life. Considering that Antonio was already on friendly terms with Gilbert, Francis, and Mathias, three of the Four Lords, there was no doubt in anyone's mind that they would just let their friend slip through their fingers.

Now, even though it's been nearly seven years since their first adventure with Arthur, Gilbert, and Mathias, time hasn't appeared to taken its toll on Antonio. The Spaniard was just as youthful and lively as any other day he's been alive. Gilbert gave Lovino a half-hearted smile that was itching to break into one of his obnoxious grins in an attempt to sympathise with the latter's anxiety and apprehension before closing the door to give them a sense of privacy.

"Nervous?" Antonio inquired of his cousin.

"Who do you think I am, dumb tomato bastard?" Lovino snapped indignantly. His defences crumbled for a moment as he slumped and grumbled.,"Shit, just a little, dammit. It's not _just_ a wedding. It's a damn _coronation_, too."

"You'll be fine," Antonio assured with a warm, brotherly smile. "You've gotten stronger, Lovi. I remember twenty years ago, you were a bit of a crybaby and sometimes wet the—!"

"Shut up!" Lovino screeched, chucking a nearby pillow at the laughing Spaniard. "You're such a bastard!"

"There you go, Lovi!" Antonio chirped. "It looks like you're feeling better already!" His smile softened. "_Abuelo_ would be proud of you, Lovino—and Feliciano, too." Antonio stretched out his arm for Lovino to take, and the Italian scoffed, slapping it away and making the Spaniard laugh.

"I'm not a damn woman. I don't need you to escort me down the aisle," Lovino snapped, rolling his eyes. His gaze dropped to the floor. "Just be by my side, all right? You're the only family I have left, you dumb tomato bastard. I can't believe I'm going to be stuck with only you for the rest of my life, but... at least there's someone."

Antonio's smile faltered slightly as he remembered his deceased family members as well. "_Sí_, at least there's someone alive," he whispered quietly, blinking back the tears accompanying the memories of his parents, his aunt and uncle, his grandparents, and of his cousin, Feliciano. "If Arturo—or anything about the Underworld—ever makes you mad, you can rant to me just like old times, no?" Antonio laughed in an attempt to lighten the mood. "Then again, it's kind of baffling to imagine Arturo making you mad. I can see that he treasures you the most of everything."

Interrupting the two surviving members of the Vargas family was a knock on the door. Gilbert cracked the door open and commented, "I have to go. There's only a few minutes left until my awesome début. You guys better hurry, too." Lovino nodded his head and gestured for Antonio to follow Gilbert out of the chamber. The three of them rushed to the pair of enormous white doors leading into the ballroom and met with the rest of the bridal party. Each bridesmaid and usher paired together with Isabel and Mathias in the front, then Julchen and Gilbert, Marianne and Francis, and, finally, Elizaveta and the best man, Alistair, who wore his military uniform decorated with his medals. Angelique, dressed in her white floral gown with white laces and ribbons as well as a pair of princess socks and Mary-Jane shoes, stood behind the bridesmaids with her basket of flower petals—white lilies and roses—with Jia Long standing right beside her bearing a crimson pillow holding two simple platinum rings engraved with a pentagram that held traces of diamonds at the five points. The doors opened, and everyone stepped into the ballroom pair after pair atop the crimson carpet embroidered with golden threads. Thousands of eyes fell upon them.

The bridesmaids and ushers separated at the front into left and right respectively. Yao stood at the alter with Arthur on his left. The blond was dressed in his royal attire, a formal coat a colour of crimson so dark it was nearly the shade of black blood with golden epaulettes and embroidery, black satin lapels, and elegantly carved buttons that were properly fastened in the front as well as a pair of white trousers that were tucked into dark military boots that reached his knees and a pair of white gloves. Around his neck was an elegant white cravat, and a crimson sash crossed his torso, embellishing his military medals just like Alistair, while a golden crown was situated atop his head of golden locks that managed to be tamed for once—with the aid of some charms and spells, no doubt—and his piercings lined his ear as per usual.

Lovino smiled softly at the memory of Arthur abandoning his dull and plain wardrobe three years ago, and he would like to think that it was because of him. His outfits weren't as "punk" as they used to be in the eighties, the blond had protested, but they were different than the beige blazers and boring khakis he used to wear to remain discreet in the Surface World. The blond was comfortable being himself again.

Arthur, catching notice of Lovino's smile, shared his affections with him momentarily, exchanging euphoric smiles tinged slightly with nervousness and anxiety, before they both resumed their prior stance. In the meanwhile, Angelique was tossing the petals across the carpet and into the air that ignited into sparks of blue flames the moment they left her fingers—Arthur's personal enchantment—smiling merrily and beaming at the beautiful effects they left. Once Lovino reached the front of the grand staircase, Antonio separated from him to sit with the rest of Arthur's family in the front, including Alfred, Matthew, and Neeraja. At the grand piano, a sleek black, Roderich ceased his playing so that Yao could speak.

"Family and friends, we gather here today on the twenty-fifth of December, Christmas Day," the Scribe declared, "to unite King Arthur Pendragon Kirkland of the Underworld, Third Son of Hades, and Lovino Vargas, First Grandson of Romulus Vargas and _la Famiglia Divina_, in holy matrimony—or maybe just matrimony considering our location. We can't exactly call ourselves holy and divine." The attendants chuckled, and Arthur and Lovino both cracked a subtle smile at the Scribe's attempt to relax their ecstatic nerves and loosen the rigid intensity stiffening their muscles. Clearing his throat, Yao Wang resumed his speech, "Originally, I was one of those who was most adamantly against this union. I thought a human unsuitable as a consort, his knowledge of the universe lacking and his skills... non-existent." Yao smiled amiably at the trace of a deep scowl surfacing onto Lovino's exterior. "That was only my initial thoughts," the Chinese dragon assuaged the prince consort to-be. "Nevertheless, I came to learn that nobody else can defy our king as his beloved had, and, thereby, his beloved is the one who influences our king the most. While we can revere and respect our king, we cannot support him in the way that his love can, for we are the kingdom which he protects. Throughout each tremulous storm that weathers the foundation of his realm, he shall protect and reconstruct his domain accordingly, but the individual who holds him together the entire duration of such a tempest is only his love. His love has brought our king the life we lacked or missed, and together they support and protect one another. Even if I had continued to reject the two of them, I have this belief that they would remain together, for they already seemed to be married even without this ceremony.

"You do not need my blessing or my approval, nor do you need anybody else's. Continue to love each as you always have—no, not as you always have or always will—even stronger than the last moment. With each and every day that passes, with each and every obstacle you encounter, you shall be one another's pillar of support, and you shall love each other more than you had yesterday. Your vows?"

Arthur plucked Lovino's ring from the pillow and, smiling, recited a passage from memory as he slipped the ring onto his lover's finger,

"Doubt thou the stars are fire,  
Doubt that the sun doth move,  
Doubt truth to be a liar,  
But never doubt I love."

"_Hamlet_?" Lovino guessed correctly with a wry smile. "You've been reading Shakespeare often these days."

"Shakespeare is romantic," Arthur countered with a mischievous smirk. "What have _you_ got up your sleeve?"

Clearing his throat, Lovino responded haughtily while slipping Arthur's ring onto his finger,

"Forty thousand brothers  
Could not with all their quantity of love  
Make up my sum."

"What? You've quoted _Hamlet_ as well," the blond mused.

"You left it lying around!" Lovino protested, crossing his arms. "This line was cool, anyway. You have a problem with it, dammit?"

Arthur laughed and shook his head, leaving his subjects in attendance astounded to hear his joyous laughter. Ever since childhood it was rare of King Arthur to have laughed, yet this human who had achieved the eternal quest to seek out immortality so easily had managed to make him do just as easily without so much of a challenge. There was no doubt that Lovino Vargas was to become a formidable person, but the consort hadn't even realised such a prospect.

"I'm just glad," Arthur mused, "that our ending is not as tragic as Hamlet's."

Shaking his head in both amusement and disapproval, Yao was about to chastise the couple before proceeding with the ceremony, but it seemed that someone else had beat him to his next line, "You may now kiss the bridegroom," leaving the Scribe in a confused daze. He glanced around for the source of the voice—an almost omnipotent sounding voice infused with the voices of many unifying into one voice—only to catch a glimpse of a white shadow, like a blaze of white light, standing at quite the distance. He thought he caught a sparkle of emeralds, but the moment he blinked the white shadow had already vanished into thin air like a flash of white lightning.

In the meanwhile, Lovino and Arthur stared at each other, somewhat flustered, after hearing the line. A coat of red flushed Lovino's cheeks as he glanced towards the awaiting crowd, not wanting to display any signs of affection in front of so many people, before he felt Arthur grasp his hand and pull him forward. The brunet fell into his lover's chest, feeling himself being embraced by Arthur's lean arms, before a gentle kiss pressed against his forehead. Lovino vaguely heard Elizaveta croon, melting into a puddle of goo, among the coos in the crowd, at the sweetness of such a scene, but he was more focused on trying to control the wild flutters in his stomach as his heart leapt in his chest. Arthur pulled away with an understanding smile on his lips; however, before he could fully separate from Lovino, the Italian snapped, "Why the fuck do you do this to me?" and grasped his cravat and locked their lips together in a heated kiss, making the crowd roar with cheers. Arthur soon assumed the lead, pressing Lovino close against his body, and devoured his lips hungrily. They eventually pulled away for air, only to face a jubilant crowd. Lovino's cheeks flushed an even deeper crimson. "That's how you fucking kiss, bastard, got it?" he grumbled, kicking the scuff of his shoe against the carpet shyly. Arthur chuckled and took Lovino's hand within his own yet again, lacing their fingers together.

They looked into the crowd and found, standing at the open doors, Feliciano and Romulus Vargas smiling widely—their grins stretching ear to ear—while cheering loudly for their brother and grandson. Their forms were both transparent, spectral in a sense, and before Lovino could address them, they both faded into the background as though they were never there at all. In the meanwhile, Yao was attempting to quell the spectators in order for them to continue with the next part of the ceremony—the coronation of a prince consort. Kiku, dressed in his black uniform and revealing his ears and all nine of his tails, climbed down the grand staircase carrying a pillow similar to the one that Jia Long carried down the aisle. Upon it he carried a golden crown endued with sparkling jewels and a sceptre.

The fox spirit stopped beside Yao and in front of the newly married couple wearing his usual blank stare. Arthur took the crown in his hands and bestowed it upon Lovino's head carefully. He then took the sceptre into his two hands before passing it onto Lovino, who grasped the heirloom tightly. He recalled his dream momentarily of Arthur as the boy king of Camelot holding a royal sceptre much too grand, much too heavy, and much too tall for a twelve year old before swiftly dismissing the dream and snapping back to his reality. He was suddenly all too aware of the smiles thrown his way by all of the bridesmaids and all of the ushers, including the best man, now his brother-in-law, and all of the guests and participants.

"Turn," Arthur told him softly, "to face your new subjects."

Lovino gulped and turned around, suddenly far too attentive to all of the eyes set upon his small figure, and he nearly didn't hear all of Yao's incantations that were supposed to give him strength as the new consort of the Dark Realm. Once he heard clapping, Lovino gladly replaced the sceptre onto the pillow on which it was carried, but the Italian was unable to take off his crown until he disappeared from public eyes. The recessional began, and Arthur stretched out his hand for Lovino to take. The brunet gave his British lover a weary smile before intertwining their fingers together once more. The two of them lead the bridal party out of the ballroom. Alistair and Elizaveta followed first, then Francis and Marianne, then Gilbert and Julchen, and then Mathias and Isabel. Angelique and Jia Long chased after their elders with Yao and Kiku close on their tail. Once Lovino and Arthur passed the double doors, the Italian could hear Seamus and Owain rise to instruct the congregation where to go.

In an impromptu decision, Arthur pulled Lovino away from the bridal party, sprinting away from the others with his consort stumbling behind him, while bubbling with laughter. Lovino couldn't keep the smile away from his lips either and eventually caught up to speed, running beside his lover. "Oi!" Alistair exclaimed from a ways down the corridor indignantly over Elizaveta's squeals. "Where do ye think you're going? What about the reception?!"

"I'll leave it to you!" Arthur responded casually. "Take care of the children for me!"

"Fuck that!" Alistair cried. "Ye should already be over the damn honeymoon phase, bloody moron!" Even though he said that, the Demon King knew that his brother was unable to leave five children unattended at a party. Despite being the Prince of Wrath (or, perhaps, because he was the Prince of Wrath), Alistair had a soft spot for children, who were still very much innocent without much influence from the outside world. Grumbling under his breath, the redhead marched towards the garden to help host the reception in place of the already honeymooning couple.

Throwing Lovino into his bedchamber, Arthur bolted the door shut before loosening his cravat, tossing the most annoying parts of his clothing aside—the military sash and the crown namely—and unbuttoning his formal coat. He raked his fingers through his groomed locks, tousling the mousy hair into its natural state, while the Italian made himself comfortable on Arthur's bed, unbuttoning his tailcoat and stripping himself of the numerous layers he was forced to wear during the formal occasion. He sprawled across Arthur's vast bed, drowning in the comfortable mattress, and when Arthur crawled on top of him, the Italian brought him in for a kiss, wrapping his arms tightly around his neck, unrelenting and merciless. He tugged on those unruly blond locks, demanding access into his warmth, and Arthur conceded if only to dominate the kiss by overwhelming Lovino entirely.

More and more articles of clothing were discarded, and Lovino's own crown toppled to the ground with a heavy clang. The pressure of the formal event was forgotten completely in favour of the heated passion that blinded them, deluded them, into living in their own world filled with tender caresses, chaste kisses, warm embraces, and endless dances underneath the eternal night sky of the Underworld with only the brightly glowing moon, burning a feverish crimson that hardly rivalled their own passion, that was especially high in the starless sky as their witness. Lovino laid exhausted atop Arthur's chest as the Briton wrapped his arms around his lover protectively. The two of them were wrapped cosily in a welcome silence, only listening to one another's frenetic heartbeat.

"All right?" Arthur asked suddenly as he pressed a gentle kiss against Lovino's temple. His Italian lover simply pressed closer to Arthur's body.

"Hell no," Lovino grunted, "you fuck too hard..." A red tinge coated his cheeks. "But it wasn't bad, dammit—damn asshole." Arthur couldn't suppress a smile and ended up laughing softly at his consort's words. "_Nonno_ had this saying about Heaven and Hell."

"Oh?"

"Mm," Lovino hummed lowly. "In Heaven the French are the chefs, the Italians are the lovers, the British are the police, the Germans are the engineers, and the Swiss are bankers. In Hell the British are the chefs—hey! Don't bite!" Lovino protested as he felt Arthur nibble on his ear in retaliation. He lost himself to a moan of pleasure as Arthur began to leave kisses behind his ear despite the fact that he tried to continue explaining, "The Swiss are the lovers, the Germans are policemen, the French are the engineers, and the Italians are bankers."

"What's your point?" Arthur mumbled against Lovino's olive flesh, relishing the heat radiating from his lover's body. "That I picked a wonderful lover but should be weary about the transactions that might happen with my bank account? I've seen your bloody closet—Giorgio Armani, Gucci, Prada, Corneliani, Brioni—even your bloody suit today was designer—fucking Ottavio Nuccio Gala." He groaned, thinking of all the zeroes he had to pay, and the possibly six figure sum of Lovino's closet by now. He might have bought everything on sale or at an outlet with his salary from the caffè, but that by all means did not mean it was _cheap_. "Good thing I'm a king."

Lovino nudged his husband and rolled his eyes. "I meant to say that you're a rough lover, Officer Kirkland, but not at all bad—_far_ from it," the Italian retorted. After a moment, he added, "And that I'm _always_ going to cook breakfast—and lunch and dinner. Cooking food is different from cooking up spells, damn bastard."

Arthur crinkled his nose and remarked, "At least that leaves me with teatime."

"Tea is the one thing you can't do wrong," Lovino retorted, kissing his jaw tenderly in spite of his tone, "and your taste in lovers."

The blond chuckled and returned the kiss affectionately, mentioning, "That wasn't what I meant by asking, 'All right?' though." His voice occupied a more sombre tone, becoming much more grave than ever before, and Lovino knew that he couldn't avoid the topic any more. Arthur had asked earlier if he was all right with having their wedding so soon after Feliciano departed for the Celestial Realm and possibly to be redirected to the River Vitae for his rebirth.

His eyes fell to the pattern of the sheets spread upon Arthur's mattress, tracing the design of the fabric, before he answered reluctantly, "I know what you meant. I'm fine. I... I thought I saw Feliciano and _Nonno_ there though. Crazy, right?"

"Then we both must be insane," Arthur responded wryly with a subtle spark in his eyes reflecting the mischief in his reply. "I saw the two of them as well."

"Do you..." Lovino swallowed his fears. The worst case scenario is that Arthur would say that it was impossible, but knowing his lover, after all of these years, the impossible only means that the possibility has a very slim chance of being true. "Do you think that... they've come back? That they've been reborn?"

Arthur smiled softly. "That's the greatest probability right now," he assured, "but I don't know for sure. We'll find out eventually, yeah? Right now, you should get some rest. We have five days for the holidays before Yao drags my bloody arse around the Underworld for another round of formalities."

Lovino smirked mischievously. "What about another round?"

"You're even more of a bloody demon than I am, spitfire," Arthur mused, seizing the opportunity to take up Lovino's offer. He brought Lovino closer for another kiss—slow, seductive, and sensual. "Where do you want to go after Christmas?" he whispered in Lovino's ear before pressing another kiss to the shell of his lover's ear and another behind his ear. "Rome? London? Or somewhere more exotic? I heard Fiji is lovely around this time of year."

The Italian smiled as he enveloped Arthur's lips in another kiss. "How about Naples?" he suggested shyly. "It can be too damn hot during summer for your standards, but it'll be perfect during winter. My family has estate nearby, too, and it's all under my name now... Plus, I don't want to be surrounded by tourists either."

Arthur arched a sceptic eyebrow. "Why Naples? I thought you've been straying from your roots for a while now," the blond inquired curiously. "I haven't heard so much of a word from you regarding _la famiglia _in years."

"Can't run away from it forever," Lovino responded tersely as he collapsed at Arthur's side on the bed. He smirked mischievously and commented offhandedly, "I bet you could recognise all of the old churches and piazzas and palaces and shit, too—maybe even the _ancient artefacts._"

The Demon King huffed in disdain and remarked, "I'm not _that_ old... I didn't even exist before the common era... but I would probably recognise some of the castles. I was there when they were completed—like Sant'Elmo." The Briton then smiled widely at his lover. "I'm looking forward to seeing them all the same though. Get some rest before we leave."

"And the children?"

"I'm sure Alistair can handle them for a few days."

* * *

"_Signore_," Feliciano addressed the ominous and omniscient voice as he wandered about the white room. He couldn't feel his bare feet hit the white floor, yet there was a very soft, very subtle sound of his feet making contact with the surface. Honestly, in this room, Feliciano couldn't tell up from down, and he couldn't tell left from right. He wasn't even sure if he was upside down or right-side up or if he was on his sides or on his back or anything else. All he could see was an endless stretch of white. "Why am I here again?"

"Ah," responded the voice—or voices, Feliciano couldn't tell—as it considered Feliciano's question, "you remember the first time we have met then."

"_Sì_," answered the brunet as he plopped down on the "floor," crossing his legs, to have a conversation with a person—or perhaps some _persons—_he could not see. Amber eyes blinked as he searched the vicinity for the figure speaking with him. "You let me go back to Earth to see my _fratello_. Ve, I wanted to be at his wedding, and even after I returned here with Mordred, you let me see my _nonno_ and my _fratello_. You're very nice, _Signore_, just like Artù."

"I hope Arthur treats your brother nicely," replied the voice.

"I hope my _fratello_ treats Artù nicely!" corrected Feliciano with a sheepish smile. "Lovino is very nice even though he acts mean, ve. I'm sure they will be happy together. _Signore_, have you known Artù long?"

"I've known him since his birth," answered the voice amiably. "He is a very talented, a very gifted boy. He has overcome many challenges and will face many more still. I trust your brother will be in very good hands."

Feliciano beamed. "I hope so, too!" The smile on his lips faded though the moment those words escaped the confines of his lips. "I miss him... I miss everyone. I never thought being dead would be so lonely."

"There is a way to be with them, Feliciano," mentioned the voice. From a burst of light, a tall, towering figure stepped forward. The flash blinded the Italian young man, who had to squint his eyes to bear the sudden sensation, but even then he couldn't see who stood in front of him—only catching a faintest glimpse of a pair of bright green eyes. "You have to be careful though. Not every daemon in the Underworld can tolerate angels, and it is very difficult for angels to tolerate the Underworld itself due to the horrid miasma that leaks from Hell. I fear it will be difficult for you to see your brother again, but I promise that I will give you another opportunity so long as you fulfil your missions. Right now, I have something I want you to do for me. It will be your first task as my divine soldier."

"Ve?"

Feliciano felt his palms being turned upward. A solid object was laid within his hands, somewhat heavy but not quite, definitely not incredibly massive. Cupping his hands about the item, Feliciano realised that it was an egg large enough to fit the size of his entire palm. "What is this, _Signore_?" he asked the stranger.

"It's my wedding present." Feliciano could vaguely see a pale finger pressing against thin lips stretched in a pearly white smile. "But don't let them see you, understood, Feliciano? Don't let them know our little secret until you're fully trained.

"I need five little lost ones to come back to me quietly and willingly, after all."

* * *

"What the fuck?!" Lovino shrieked as he backed away from the grand bed fit for a king within his room at his grandfather's mansion in the countryside just south of Naples. Arthur moaned at his consort's outburst that awoke him from a relaxing nap. Stretching his limbs, the Briton pushed himself upright on the bed and blinked away his sleep, slowly awakening his senses. "W-What is that?!" Lovino cried as he pointed a shaky finger to the object of his attention. Arthur glanced downwards and found a rather large egg laying between him and a compression where Lovino's weight was formerly located. "There isn't some weird reproduction thing you haven't told me about, is there?"

"I assure you that is not the case, luv," Arthur responded collectedly as he gingerly picked up the egg to observe it. "It would be a tad bit strange for one of us to suddenly lay an egg like some sort of monotreme, and I assure you that is _definitely_ not the case." In his groggy state, he could faintly distinguish traces of life energy emanating from the egg. "I don't know how this egg got here either, but it seems that there's a soul in here—developing rather quickly at that. You shouldn't cook this egg for breakfast, dear."

"I know that, you sarcastic bastard! I'm not going to cook some weird egg for breakfast! I don't know where it came from or what it is! Do you think I'm some kind of moron, dammit?"

"That's certainly not the case, darling," Arthur responded distractedly as he turned the egg in his hand. It fit the size of his palm entirely, larger than any other egg Arthur had ever encountered except for a rare dragon egg that occurs once every five centuries or so. Peering closer, Arthur attempted to study the soul that laid protected behind the egg's shell. His emeralds widened considerably in surprise as he recognised a familiar golden flame that he had only seen for a few minutes only a couple of weeks ago—barely even a month! "We have to hatch this egg."

"What?"

"We have to hatch this egg," Arthur repeated. "It's no regular egg. Considering the rapid development of the soul inside, it's only a matter of days before it hatches. We _have_ to hatch it."

Lovino blinked slowly before crawling back into bed and underneath the covers. He took the egg from Arthur's hands and felt a faint attachment to it. "Could you at least explain why, bastard?" Lovino asked of the Demon King. "Is it a familiar? They can change into animals, right? So is it a bird kid or a lizard kid or something? I refuse to believe that a fucking stork dropped by to pay us a visit and give us a late present after our wedding day while we are on our honeymoon all the way in Naples and away from any business meetings and shit."

"I don't think so," Arthur answered uncertainly to Lovino's question in spite of the smiling dancing on his lips from the stork comment. "I'm not sure, actually. I just... don't want to leave it alone."

"So you're saying we're adopting it even though we don't know what the fuck it is. Along with the five other kids we have."

Arthur grinned widely. "You catch on fast."

Lovino snorted and remarked sardonically, "Who the hell do you think you are, bastard? Nanny McPhee? Mary Poppins?" Rolling his eyes, he subconsciously held the egg closer to his chest. "Whatever, dammit. I'll go along with it—but not for you—for this weird egg. It'd be bad if she died on us or if she became an orphan."

"You're already assuming it's a girl?"

"I want a girl! They're cuter than boys!" Lovino snapped before pouting childishly. "But that's just because I never really looked at a man until I met you. Anyway, you know, girl or boy, their parents would love them all the same. It doesn't really matter to me. I'd still care for them. Favouritism sucks; I know that." Arthur smiled softly and pulled Lovino closer into an embrace.

"We'll find out soon if it's a girl or a boy. Have you thought of any names?"

"Felicia—or maybe Felicita—if it's a girl," Lovino responded, making the smile on Arthur's lips widen. He could practically hear the unspoken words, _In honour of my brother._ "You think of a boy name."

"Marcello," Arthur replied in an instant. "Marcello is a good name."

"Why?"

"Because you'd probably reject Marcellus," the Briton explained sheepishly. "That's the name of the soul. I figured the Italian derivative is close enough."

"Fine," Lovino agreed shortly as he crawled out of bed much to Arthur's dismay in order to wrap the egg in a snug blanket. "Felicia and Marcello are our choices. It's a fifty-fifty chance, so it's fair, right?"

"Of course," Arthur confirmed with a nod of his head. "Now how are we going to hatch dear Marcello over the next four or five days?"

"We're just going to take dear Felicia with us wherever we go," Lovino answered nonchalantly—or as nonchalantly as he endeavoured to be—while digging away in his closet. He managed to pull out an old satchel—Gucci, of course—and began to pad the inside with cloth towels and small blankets to absorb any impacts. "Let's find some museums to visit today and anything else you want to look at."

"What about you?" Arthur retorted. "What do _you_ want to do?"

"I want to eat lunch at a _caffè_ and steal the recipes if it's good enough," Lovino confessed with red cheeks while flinging a random shirt at Arthur's head. The Demon King caught the flying fabric while smiling fondly at his consort. "At least in this lifetime, I'm still running a business. I have to make sure it doesn't sink and go completely under the water."

"That's not it at all," the Englishman commented with an encouraging smile. "You have some place that you really want to visit, and it's not just any random _caffè_, eh? You said before that you wanted to face your past?"

The Italian flushed red with embarrassment. "It's a place that _Nonno_ used to take me and Feliciano to dine for lunch—a local joint," Lovino confessed hesitantly.

"Well then," the blond mused, "let's hurry and get ready. I'm sure Marcello will enjoy a day out as well."

"Of course, she will, you bastard."

"And besides," Arthur mentioned pointedly with a warm smile, "I'm more interested in seeing your childhood than any museum."

The next four days were spent admiring Neapolitan architecture and buildings as well as a number of artefacts and artworks found at museums and galleries if Lovino and Arthur weren't strolling down memory lane or lingering at the Vargas estate retouching the flora. With Lovino's magic touch, they managed to revive the garden in a matter of days, and Arthur planned for it to remain that way even if it would be a while until they return. (The Briton already made arrangements to hire housekeepers and gardeners while Lovino wasn't looking.) It would have been a waste of Lovino's hard work if the plants shrivelled up and withered again. Before long, their holiday had ended within a blink of an eye, and Arthur had to conjure another portal so that they could return to the Underworld on the thirty-first of December, New Year's Eve.

After all, the newly married couple was forced to host a New Year's party at the palace in line with old traditions. In spite of the cheerful, warm welcome they've received, Lovino couldn't help but long for a little bit more time alone with Arthur. For the night, they left the egg behind in Arthur's chambers, and neither Arthur nor Lovino could last a second without worrying about the developing soul alone in a vast, dark room. By the time they counted down accordingly to Eastern Standard Time, watching the ball drop in Times Square (a tradition that began in 1908), Arthur and Lovino fled the ballroom and threw themselves into the king's bedchamber. When they saw that the egg was still in one piece, they heaved a great sigh of relief, and Lovino simply dragged himself to bed while tossing aside the most bothersome parts of his royal costume.

Of course, the next day meant breakfast with the family.

"So how are we going to take Marcello to breakfast when we can't even leave him alone for the night?" Arthur asked his consort as he sat himself upright in his bed. The blanket slid down his front, barely covering his wait and hips, and revealed his lean muscles, including his well-built abdomen, as well as his slender frame. Lovino willed himself not to look at his handsome and most delectable lover and husband.

"I'll hold Felicia in my lap. Hopefully, I don't have to stand." Flinging Arthur's shirt at the blond's face (the both of them lost count on how many times that has happened in the past week), Lovino snapped, "Now go change. We have to get there first if we're going to pull this off correctly."

"Yes, dear!" Arthur sang with a mischievous smirk settled on his lips. He slipped out of bed and wrapped his arms around Lovino's waist, pressing kisses against his neck, and asked, "Want to shower together?"

"Just go get ready, bastard. We're keeping Felicia a secret for now, right? I mean, we hardly even know _what_ she is even five days after we've gotten her from the damn stork."

"As you wish, my darling spitfire."

Later, the two of them rushed to the dining hall, freshly showered and neatly dressed, and sat at their respective seats. Arthur sat at the head of the table while Lovino occupied the seat to his right. Setting the egg in his lap first, Lovino attempted to hide it with a napkin. Arthur rolled his eyes in response, earning himself a glare from the brunet. Standing up, the King pushed his consort's chair closer to the table, hiding the egg more efficiently. Just as he sat down, Alistair, Owain, and Seamus entered the dining hall. The eldest son appeared somewhat haggard as though he had gone through military exercises non-stop for the past week while the fourth son was noticeably pale. Owain, as always, appeared exhausted from a sufficient lack of sleep even though that was probably all he ever did.

"Is something the matter?" Arthur asked his brothers.

"Your children are too damn lively," Alistair griped as he sat to Arthur's left. Owain and Seamus followed his example and plopped into their chairs. The Prince of Sloth immediately set his head atop the table in spite of common table etiquette.

"Well, they just want to spend time with their favourite Uncle Alistair," Arthur responded sardonically. "Not like they have any other Uncle Alistair from which to choose or else I would have criticised their poor taste."

"How did sweet little angels end up with a father like ye?"

"Fate and miracle, I suppose," Arthur responded dryly. "It unites us all. Unfortunately enough, I'm stuck with you."

"You little fucker," Alistair seethed all in good nature. He turned his attention to Lovino, who sat across from him, "It's not too late to get a divorce, you know."

"Catholics don't believe in divorces—supposedly," the Englishman remarked.

"Well, shite, I guess you're stuck with him, too," Alistair teased with a crooked smirk on his lips.

The doors burst open at that point, and a flood of children flitted to the table at Lovino's side. Alfred, Matthew, Angelique, Jia Long, and Neeraja immediately filled the rest of the seats on Lovino's side of the table after affectionately greeting their guardians while Peter and Kaelin sat next to their siblings. Jett and James quickly followed after the children with a familiar face and occupied the remaining seats. Bridget smiled at Arthur and Lovino, congratulating them, as she sat across from her daughter and sons and next to Arthur's guardian spirits. "I trust that my darling Kaelin has been of aide to you, Arthur," Bridget addressed her nephew with a friendly smile on her lips. After three years, she had collected herself perfectly in spite of the fact that her husband had died at Arthur's hands. Kaelin flushed with embarrassment from all of the attention she was receiving. "She's a smart one—and pretty, too."

"Indeed, she is," Arthur agreed—but not out of courtesy and politeness. He gave Kaelin a fond smile. "My cousin is a girl who is well put-together. I'm certain she will grow up to be a fine, independent young woman just like her mother."

"You flatter me, Arthur."

"It is not flattery, Aunt Bridget. It is the truth. I'm grateful to have Kaelin's help. She is particularly insightful." The Demon King chuckled when he noticed that his youngest cousin was now trying to hide herself even though Peter was pestering her about a job well-done.

After everyone was seated and collected, the family breakfast began with the servants, among them was Kiku directing and supervising, if not helping, the others, carrying out food from the kitchen.

"Enjoy this feast, lads," Alistair mused as he gave the children a wide, amiable grin so different from his earlier attitude towards Arthur. "It'll be the last one until a few more centuries pass."

Amidst the clamour and the noise, Lovino felt the egg shake in his lap in response to the lively atmosphere of the Kirkland family. From the sudden shock, he dropped his fork against his dish, the impact ringing in the vicinity. Every set of eyes focused on him, making his cheeks flush a deep scarlet, as he stammered out a lame apology, but even throughout his extended apology, the trembling and quaking wouldn't stop. Any moment now, Lovino feared that the egg would drop from his lap and, instead of hatching, crack. Arthur slipped Lovino's hand into his own, and their eyes locked together. As though understanding what was bothering Lovino, Arthur stood and pulled out the Italian's chair, quickly helping Lovino stand upright after making sure the Italian grasped the egg firmly in his hands.

Upon noticing the rumbling egg in Lovino's arms, Alistair raised a thick eyebrow while Owain gazed at the eye wearily. Bridget, on the other hand, seemed rather amused, and Seamus was rather unnerved with how his aunt had appeared so nonchalant with this sudden surprise. "Is that what I think it is?" the Prince of Sloth inquired of Arthur. In that moment, all of which Arthur was aware was that Owain simply knows and that Alistair had a good idea of what the egg was as well.

"Well..." Arthur trailed off. "It's the same soul—Marcellus—but it's purified now. It shouldn't cause you—anybody, really—any harm. It doesn't know anything. It's a new life."

"What are you talking about?" Lovino whispered harshly under his breath so that only Arthur could hear.

"Marcellus was Mordred's soul. It was poisoned by Morgan le Fay before we cleansed it," Arthur explained to his consort. "If it's back from the River Vitae, it's a sign from the Heavens that Marcellus is ready for a new body, a new life. The Maker has entrusted us with Mordred's soul this time." Arthur smiled soberly and mentioned, "I want to give him a new life even if he doesn't remember his wishes. I want him to feel the love he never had in his past life. I want him to have new experiences... We can do that, can't we?"

Lovino stared at Arthur long and hard before responding slowly, "You're too kind to be the fucking Devil, you damned bastard." He clutched the egg more firmly to prevent it from springing out of his grasp. "Of course we can. It's a big castle, and you have a big house, too. It'll be a big and cosy family—like what Feliciano's always dreamt of after our parents died. We kept losing everyone, but... I think that can stop now, right?" He angled his head, and his lips stretched into a smile only Arthur could see. "Feliciano will come back to us someday. We'll be waiting for him until then, _sì_?"

"_Sì_," Arthur agreed wholeheartedly. With that one uttered word, a crack formed horizontally in the shell of the egg before breaking off entirely. There was a cry from within the egg, and everyone's breath hitched in their throat. They watched anxiously as Arthur carefully peeled the top of the shell off the child that had been developing within the egg like a Russian nesting doll before a head of chestnut brown tresses poked into the open. There was a single curl—somewhat angular—similar to that of Lovino's standing out rebelliously from the rest, and the skin complexion was a hue between the pale porcelain of Arthur's and the exotic olive of Lovino's—a fair shade, if anyone had to say anything. The child finally opened his eyes, revealing big, round and wide emeralds just like the rest of the Kirkland family. Arthur watched in awe as the child hushed. Taking the small infant into his arms, Arthur noted that he was the very size of the egg—not much larger than a single palm—yet his soul was golden, grand. Then the boy giggled.

"He has your eyes," Lovino whispered.

"He looks just like you," Arthur remarked as he buried his nose into Marcello's hair. "His nose, his hair, his lips, his laughter! Marcello, aren't you happy to be alive?!" He lifted the bubbling boy into the air as the infant giggled. Arthur burst with laughter and brought his child close to his chest once again. "I promise to you, I will nurture you—not only your soul—not only to redeem myself to Mordred—but because you are now my child. You are Marcello Vargas Kirkland from this day forward." Arthur turned to Lovino with a grand smile on his lips. "Right, Lovino?"

"Right, you cheeky bastard," Lovino responded with the same cheeriness seeping into his voice. Everyone else congratulated the new fathers, and the five children dashed over to greet their newest brother.

"He's so small!" Alfred exclaimed after Arthur crouched for his five guardian spirits to have a glance at their baby brother. "He's tiny!"

"He's just like a doll!" Angelique cooed as she reached out to touch him with her forefinger. Marcello gripped her finger tightly and giggled. The features on Angelique's visage softened noticeably, and she bent over to bestow a kiss on Marcello's forehead. "Is he going to be small forever?"

"I don't think so," Arthur responded to his princess' question. "From what I see, he has demon blood in his veins. Considering his small size right now and the scale of his soul, he'll grow to be a normal sized baby in no time. Then he'll take his time to grow like Peter and Kaelin."

"What about me and Alfred and Ange and Jia Long and Neeraja?" Matthew asked curiously. "Will we grow big, too?"

At the innocent question, Arthur's heart broke into pieces. Technically, his children's physical bodies were already deceased. Only the soul lives on after having been extracted from the place of their haunting due to the support Arthur's powers offered. "We'll see, lad," Arthur whispered quietly with a weak smile. Lovino noticed, and it didn't take long for Alistair, Owain, and Seamus to notice either. The children continued to play with their baby brother obliviously, however, and with the passing time, even Peter and Kaelin noticed Arthur's distress—especially after Jett and James exchanged worried, concerned glances.

"Arthur," Bridget called out to her nephew as she stood beside Alistair, "I think we have to talk."

The Demon King promptly nodded and followed after his aunt after handing his youngest son to his consort's care. The Italian at first appeared awkward before his features softened into affection and adoration. It was as though he knew—somehow—that Marcello had both his and Arthur's blood. After all, even though Arthur said that Marcello had demon blood flowing through his veins, he didn't say that Marcello did _not _ have human blood either.

Arthur joined his aunt outside the dining hall, and Alistair and Owain promptly joined him as well.

"You've had them for around five centuries," Bridget began firmly with her arms crossed and her eyes locked with Arthur's, "but they haven't grown at all. I think they're beginning to notice, boy, that they're unlike both daemons and humans."

Everyone was reluctant to utter the next phrase, but Owain finally broke the silence, only serving to intensify the situation, "It's time, Arthur, to release their souls. They're no longer bound to the place where they died. You've given them happiness enough, dear brother. It's time for them to depart and move onto their next lives. They're satiated now what with the tender love and care you and Lovino have given them."

"Not now," Arthur argued as tears threatened to spill from his eyes. Still, he was resilient and kept them rolling down his cheeks. "They have a brother to love now. They can't leave now."

"But they have to leave soon," Alistair reasoned. Although his voice was steadfast and unwavering, it was clear that he was nearly breaking down himself. He stated as strongly and adamantly as he could, "There's no place for the dead in the Realm of the Living. They don't have a physical body, Arthur. They're not alive, and they're not undead either. They can't stay here any more. They have to return to the flow of life—the River Vitae. Feliciano knew that, and he's been a spirit for a shorter duration than they have. I'm sure they know as well that they don't really belong here, and nobody would question your decision. The Four Lords would understand. I know how fond they are of the five of them as well, but, Arthur—"

"I know! I _know_ already!" the blond snapped as a few tears slipped from his eyes. He didn't dare wipe them away and instead focused his gaze on the floor. "I know..." he assured his elders. "Please, just give us time to say goodbye. I have to tell Lovino, too."

"I think," Bridget spoke up, "although I was not there, that your lover knows about the children after the example his brother set. You didn't see his face when Matthew asked that question. It seems that he is also prepared. Arthur, steel your resolve."

"I know," the Englishman chanted, "I know..."

With that, the four of them returned to the dining hall, pretending that all was well. News of Marcello's hatching spread throughout the castle like wildfire, and soon the rumours that the king now had an heir reached the entirety of the kingdom. The Four Lords and their followers all paid Lovino, Arthur, and Marcello visits, awing at his small size. Doubtless, the stronger of the followers had questioned tiny Marcello's potential, but considering their king's works of miracles, they didn't question much afterwards. Later that night, Arthur broke the news to Lovino who, although he had known, ever since Feliciano's departure, that the children would have to leave eventually as well, burst into tears at the prospect. He didn't want them to leave either just as soon as the two of them had the potential to have a big, happy family. Still, he braced himself for the day when that would come.

* * *

**A/N: **In _Sympathy for the Devil_, I had already planned for the children to be spirited away, but I never got to it then because there was already too much going on. Let's see if I get to it this time.

Mordred isn't Seborga or vice-versa; only his appearance was based off Seborga. Mordred was a little too messed up to be Seborga, but Seborga somehow ended up as Marcello. I fancied this idea of Mordred being reborn when I was planning the plot, but I didn't realise that he would be reborn as Marcello/Seborga until I started writing the last few chapters.

Also, this isn't the last time you'll see Feliciano. Promise!

_Thanks for all the reviews, favourites, and follows!_


	11. Chapter 10

**X: Spirited Away**

In nearly six months' time, Marcello had grown to be a healthy weight typical of babies. He was no longer the size of a man's palm, and his complexion had darkened some to resemble more of Lovino's olive skin tone than Arthur's porcelain flesh. He ate quite a bit for his physical age and was extremely fond of the smell of Lovino's cooking. Most times he slept, however, but in the moments he was awake, Marcello learnt quickly of the world around him. For some inexplicable reason, the boy possessed some sort of fascination with plants—especially the trees in the Surface World with how they would change colours. Nevertheless, he was a clever boy and didn't cry often—much to Lovino's relief—what one would call an easy babe. The Dark Realm was quickly taken with the infant, and so were Marcello's older siblings.

In the kitchen of the Vargas mansion in the Italian countryside just south of the city of Naples (since the Briton found himself tiring of city life in smoggy London and yearning for an escapade far from people—human and daemons alike), Lovino found himself in the garden, pulling the weeds forcefully out of the soil and away from his beloved tomato plants.

Much to Lovino's surprise, one day at Arthur's English manor, the blond had simply declared that they—he, Lovino, and the children—ought to leave London and Rome for a while. Even more surprisingly, the Englishman had even stated that they wouldn't be teleporting; instead, they had taken a plane from England to Italy just like regular humans. Lovino had almost forgotten the sensation of travelling—the rumble of the plane engines, the force of gravity during take off, the weightlessness of flying... and, of course, the exhaustion that accompanied long flights and car rides. The car ride from the city of Naples to the countryside was, in itself, tiresome. The Italian hadn't even known Arthur was capable of driving a car. However, it wasn't that surprising now that he thought about it; after all, the Briton had the most experience with cars. Still, being trapped in a car with six children isn't something that Lovino is likely to forget. It had reminded him of his own experiences travelling with family, in fact—with _Nonno_, Feliciano, Antonio, and their parents.

Shaking himself out of his reminisce, Lovino smiled to himself as he heard the gleeful squeals of children a short distance away as they dove into their mischievous acts. Even though a two hour trip by car with them in the midst of summer was akin to Hell, there was no denying that Lovino had both a soft spot for the children and that he enjoyed their company. Shortly after the chirping, there was a mixture of delighted giggles, animated chattering, and running feet. Picking himself off the ground, Lovino shuffled towards the five guardian spirits and smiled fondly at them, vaguely aware that they probably had very little time left to enjoy with each other. It had already been a few weeks, maybe a few months, now. Each and every day was filled with laughter and smiles, so it only made sense, at least to Lovino, that there was no regret preventing these lost souls and such wonderful children from moving onto their next lives. Even though he knew that and was fully aware of that, it definitely didn't mean that Lovino was willing to let them go. Just like Arthur, he wanted to spend every day together with the eight of them—a full house filled with laughter and joy. That would have been perfect.

"What are you doing?" Lovino asked, finally making his presence known to the little ones. Alfred held the garden hose in one hand and attempted to support the synthetic rubber tube with the other. Matthew was trying to pull the hose away from his twin brother and held a look of mortification as he realised that he appeared as though he was an accomplice in crime. Across from Alfred was a soaking wet Angelique, whose long, dark hair dripped with water and whose yellow sun-dress was clinging tightly to her flesh like a second skin, and an absolutely drenched Jia Long, whose khaki shorts and red t-shirt appeared much too heavy for him to bear. In the meanwhile, Neeraja was hiding behind one of Arthur's apple trees to prevent himself from getting wet. Still, even though one child was hiding for cover and one child was trying to stop the misdeeds and two children played the roles of victims, all five of them seemed ecstatic.

"Roma!" Angelique exclaimed, running towards him and throwing her arms around his neck the moment he crouched to their level. He grimaced slightly at the sensation of the front of his shirt becoming wet—not that it mattered since he was covered by a thin layer of perspiration anyway—but patted the little girl's back affectionately as he received her hug. "We watered the plants just like you told us to!"

"And a little more than that, I see," Lovino teased her. He pinched her cheek tenderly before patting the slightly sore spot lightly as she pouted. "Is it too hot outside?" The boys were all wearing shorts and sandals as well as t-shirts made of light fabric to suit the warm Southern Italian climate typical of June. Before anybody could protest—because protesting meant that they would have to head indoors to rest in the safety of air conditioning—Lovino gave them a soft smile and asked, "How about gelato?"

"Gelato!" they exclaimed gleefully with delight shining in their bright eyes. Over the years, they had grown attached to Lovino's Italian sweets, and gelato was definitely among their favourites. Following Lovino inside the Vargas mansion, Lovino directed Angelique and Jia Long to change their clothes—not wanting them to risk getting sick or leaving puddles inside his grandfather's mansion—before preparing the kitchen. As he was gathering the ingredients, the Italian couldn't help but wonder to where his husband had disappeared with their baby son, but when he peered out the kitchen window, he caught sight of a head of unruly blond hair underneath the shade of an apple tree surrounded by floating fans flapping themselves at the magic user and the infant in his arms. Lovino rolled his eyes at the sight but smiled warmly nonetheless at his lover before separating the eggs expertly.

Once Angelique and Jia Long returned, Lovino began giving out directions to each of the five children. A part of him was somewhat amused by how much better they were at cooking than Arthur despite being half his size and significantly younger. The brunet had the children mixing egg yolks and sugar until it began frothy while he warmed the milk and cream in a saucepan. Eventually, they combined the two mixtures and cooked it over the stove before straining it into a bowl and chilling the mixture for later.

"You go play for a little bit, watch a movie or something, and then we'll pour the _gelato di crema_ into an ice cream maker," Lovino suggested. When he saw their crestfallen expressions due to the fact that their cold, sweet treat wasn't done yet, he promised them that it would be done soon since that was their last step. "I have to go back to my garden now, so be good, okay?"

"Okay!" they sang, running into the entertainment room while arguing over which film to watch. Lovino chuckled at the sight before taking the back door into the gardens. He plucked some fresh fruits and vegetables for dinner that night and made a note to water Arthur's rose bushes if the blond ever managed to pull his head out of the clouds.

By the time he re-entered the house, Lovino was surprised to find the children waiting for him patiently in the kitchen—or as patiently as they could get. Alfred was already munching on the leftover chocolate pieces, and Angelique had managed to persuade the others into playing tea party with her by using some of the cold lemon tea Arthur meant to ice in the sweltering summer weather of Southern Italy and the scones Lovino had baked this morning. She had pulled out one of Arthur's porcelain tea sets, but instead of the milk jug and sugar bowls holding milk and sugar, they were all filled to the brim with ice cubes. Lovino chuckled at the sight and remarked, "Hungry, _ragazzi_?" Even though a part of him knew, and it killed him to know this, that as spirits they didn't need to eat food, they were so human that he had forgotten that, every time they claimed to be hungry, they were merely empty words being uttered as part of a routine. Even if he knew that, these children surely didn't know. All they knew was that in the morning was breakfast, lunch takes place in the afternoon, and you have dinner in the evening.

When they responded in a heartbeat, chirping a merry "Yes!" Lovino's smile softened. He checked the wall clock and responded, "Well, let's finish making the gelato, and then we can make sandwiches while we wait, _sì_?" Nobody dissented, so Lovino brought the gelato mixture from the fridge to pour it into the ice cream maker. After setting the timer, Lovino prepared the kitchen yet again to put together some sandwiches for the children. He snatched the loaves of bread from the counter and began to slice them into even pieces before cleaning and slicing vegetables. He filled the inside of the sandwiches with deli meat and sliced some expensive cheese to accompany the meat before stuffing the vegetables into the bread neatly. By the time he finished preparing seven sandwiches and a bottle of milk for Marcello, the timer for the ice cream maker went off, making the children cheer with delight.

Lovino sighed as he realised there was yet another task to accomplish and ended up scooping several helpings of gelato and cute little ice cream bowls for the five children and himself and Arthur. After serving the children and seeing their elated expressions, he supposed domestic life wasn't _too_ bad. Grabbing a plate with two sandwiches off the counter and a bowl of gelato with two spoons as well as that bottle of milk for Marcello, Lovino headed outside to bear the heat of the blazing hot sun once more.

"'If there is ever a tomorrow that we are not together, there is something you must always remember,'" recited Arthur as he read through the text to Marcello, who sat bustling on his lap, fiddling with everything, and doing anything but staying still. "Whoops, hold on there," Arthur broke away from reading with a smile as he bounced Marcello upright when the toddler nearly toppled over his lap and onto the ground. "Now where was I? Oh, right!" Clearing his throat, he resumed his reading once more, "'You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think. But the most important thing is, even if we're apart, I'll always be with you.'"

"Winnie the Pooh?" Lovino questioned as he peered over Arthur's shoulder, recognising the illustrations in the children's book.

The Briton hummed slowly, replying, "Why, yes it is."

Lovino sat next to Arthur, and the fans that were levitating in mid-air began to flap in his direction. The Italian rolled his eyes in an attempt to mask his amusement. "I didn't know you had Winnie the Pooh books. This one looks pretty old," the brunet commented as he gestured to the book, worn in its pages and binding. Setting the plate on the ground, he slid it towards Arthur wordlessly.

"It's one of the original copies," Arthur explained sheepishly. "Although it's a children's book, the wording is quite thoughtful and elegant—provocative, so to speak. I have several copies, actually." He flipped through the pages and faltered slightly in his demeanour when he spotted a particular quote. "Promise me you'll never forget me," Arthur read to himself mentally and as discreetly as possible in order to hide the page away from Lovino, "because, if I thought you would, I'd never leave." After he managed to clear his head of muddled thoughts somewhat, taking a sandwich, Arthur raised it slightly and said to Lovino, "Cheers." He bit into the sandwich and immediately sang his praises, making the Italian flustered. The two leaned against one another, eating in a peaceful silence with only the rustling of leaves and blades of grass. "It makes you think that there's nothing wrong with the world when you're out here," Arthur commented distractedly after he finished off his sandwich. His eyes were somewhat distant, lost in thought. "It's different from the city, where there's noise. It's quiet out here; I can understand why poets of the nineteenth century condemned innovation in the city and industrialisation. This is peace." The blond nuzzled his face into Lovino's silky hair, inhaling the Italian's earthen scent of fresh herbs and spices. "And I can spend this peace with you—at least for a little while. Before long, the city will beckon again, and we have to return for either formalities or work."

"It's not that bad," Lovino said as he fed Marcello, cradling the child in his arms. "As cheesy as it sounds, we still have each other, bastard. We're stuck together now, so we'll have to suffer through these things together no matter how difficult and rough it may be. Isn't that marriage?"

Arthur chuckled. "If that's marriage, then we've been married for nearly seven years already." He pressed his lips against Lovino's temple, admiring the serenity in Marcello's visage, and mused, "I wonder if we can just keep running away from royal duties together."

Lovino snorted. "Please, as if it's that easy," he replied snidely. "They always manage to track down your ass, remember? I think if you could have ran away then you would have succeeded already." His voice softened as he commented, "Rather, you can't run away, bastard. Instead of your subjects pledging loyalty to their king, _you're_ the one who's loyal to your own people."

The smile on Arthur's lips softened incredibly as Marcello closed his eyes to sleep once again that day. He picked up the bowl of gelato and scooped some of the sweet, sugary treat into the spoon. Without further ado, he stuck the spoon past Lovino's protesting lips and smirked deviously before stretching his tired limbs. "That's true as well," Arthur admitted sheepishly. "I just hope that there's no more trouble in the upcoming century or two."

"Let's just get through the day first."

* * *

"The hero has arrived!" Alfred exclaimed as he bounced up and down his bed dressed in his Superman pyjamas. He tackled the large stuffed lion toy that had supposedly escaped the New York City Zoo and was terrorising the citizens. "You are safe now, citizens of New York! This lion will return to where he belongs—in the zoo!"

"I don't think the lion belongs in the zoo," Matthew protested quietly as he rolled around in his bed. "He'll be caged in a zoo. I think he escaped because he wasn't happy there either. He probably wants to go home, eh?"

Alfred plopped down on his bed and considered what his twin had suggested. "That's true, too," he thought aloud. He grinned as the perfect solution came to his mind, and he announced for all to hear, "Then I'll take him home! To Madagascar!"

"Daddy says that lions don't live in Madagascar," Matthew pointed out in his soft voice. "He said that Grandpa Hades told him that they used to live everywhere, but now they only live in Africa. Daddy also says that they're dying because their homes are destroyed and because people are mean to them."

"Then we'll have to protect them, too!" Alfred declared as a matter-of-factly with a conclusive nod of his head. "And we'll protect their homes, too!"

"Why are you so loud tonight, Alfred?" Jia Long ask as he poked his head through the bedroom door. He blinked his eyes sleepily. Opening the door wider, he stepped into the twins' room with Neeraja following after him. He yawned and sat on Matthew's bed with Neeraja. "You should go to bed. Aren't you tired?"

"No, not really," Alfred answered shortly with a wide grin stretching his lips. "Are you?"

Jia Long nearly answered immediately before he thought about his reply. He blinked in confusion as he realised that he wasn't exactly tired either. "No," he responded quietly, somewhat bewildered by how awake he actually felt. Without much regard for the fact that Matthew was already tucked underneath the covers, Jia Long slipped into bed and tried curling into his side in a cat-like manner as he usually did, but still he did not feel in the least bit tired as he thought he was.

"Are you guys awake?"

Heads turned to look at Angelique, who was holding a stuffed toy, a blue dolphin, close to her chest. She blinked wearily and whined, "I can't sleep either. I don't _want_ to sleep."

At that moment, Arthur was sauntering down the hall to check on Marcello in his room. However, he caught sight of Angelique standing outside Alfred and Matthew's room. Peeking past the open door, he saw that all of his five guardian spirits had gathered there. "What's the trouble, boys?" the Englishman inquired as he swept Angelique off her feet and scooped her into his arms. The brunette squealed in surprise and clung to the front of Arthur's shirt before he sat on Alfred's bed, seated next to the blond haired child. "Is something the matter?"

"We can't sleep," Jia Long answered immediately. Arthur noticed how entirely baffled the Chinese boy was. "I was tired earlier—at least I think I was—but I can't sleep any more."

Arthur's expression darkened. Spirits did not need rest, and even though these five had a physical shell, it did not make them an exception to the fact that they were no longer living. Rest was simply necessary for them to recuperate the energy they spent, but now that they were idling, it wasn't completely necessary. Jia Long was slowly unravelling the truth.

"Well, how about a story?"

Their eyes brightened immensely. Story time with Arthur was the best because the Englishman was an excellent narrator. He knew how to change his voice accordingly, and the way words danced off his tongue, rolling into their ears, was simply magical. Each story read and narrated was like experiencing an adventure in person. They didn't hesitate at all to accept his request. Alfred and Angelique crawled into one bed while Matthew, Jia Long, and Neeraja squeezed into the other bed. In mere moments, they were eagerly suggesting titles of their favourite storybooks from fairy tales to folklores and fables. Before long, Arthur found a fairly large pile of children's books in his arms, making him chuckle nervously from the sheer amount in intimidation. He wasn't quite sure if his voice would last throughout the entire storytelling session, but still he endured and endeavoured to do so until his five children would fall asleep.

While Arthur was reading to his children a tale of faith, trust, and pixie dust, their eyes began to flutter close like the gentle movements of a butterfly's wings. Tiny yawns slipped past their lips as white shimmering light surrounded them, floating up towards the ceiling and out of the open window to let the cool air breeze inside. It took Arthur a moment to realise that the particles had come from his children instead of the River Vitae flowing about the ozone outside the mansion, and try as he might, the Briton couldn't collect the crystal fragments of his children's souls all in his arms. Lovino strolled down the hall at that time and noticed his husband, a mess of tears and sweat, past the open door. He rushed to Arthur's side, trying to calm his British lover, as the two of them watched helplessly as their beloved children spirited away into the River Vitae.

"_Thank you, Daddy. Thank you, Roma. I love you._"

Five different voices whispered. Five different spirits had known all along that this was their fate. Five different souls had departed for the next life after nearly five long centuries.

If it took Lovino several months, maybe even years, to mourn their departure as well as his brother's, Arthur took nearly several years, maybe even decades, to remind himself that life was short and to recall all of the lessons he had learnt as a demon prince. The two of them only had each other to love and support, and they only had Marcello for whom to be strong. They loved Marcello with all of their heart, their only son, but they would never forget the five little children who've been with them through thick and thin for the past seven years and, in Arthur's case, several centuries.

_Never say goodbye because goodbye means going away and going away means forgetting.  
_~J.M. Barrie, _Peter Pan_

* * *

**A/N:** This is the last chapter. Sorry for the length. It's pretty short, but I couldn't find it in myself to expand it. Maybe it reflects the time they spent together - too short to be enough. Works referenced in this chapter are _Winnie-the-Pooh_ by A. A. Milne and _Peter Pan; or, the Boy Who Wouldn't Grow Up_, otherwise known as _Peter and Wendy_, by J.M. Barrie, both of whom were British authors. The reason why?

In _The House at Pooh Corner_, it is hinted that Christopher Robin is growing up and that he is implied to have to leave for school. The animals of the Hundred Acre Wood throw him a farewell party, and at the end Christopher Robin and Pooh are seen saying a long, private goodbye. As for Peter Pan it is said that the author based him off his older brother, who died in an ice-skating accident at the age of fourteen, thereby becoming a boy who would never grow up. In _Peter and Wendy_, Barrie mentions that the legend of Peter Pan that Mrs Darling has heard states that he accompanied deceased children to their destination (Neverland, supposedly) so that they wouldn't get scared._  
_

The chapter title also has its origins in the Ghibli film, _Spirited Away_, in which the protagonist's adventure can be compared to transitioning from childhood into the adult world. In the original Japanese title, _Sen to Chihiro no Kamikakushi_, the phenomenon of being "spirited away" (_kamikakushi_) refers to the sudden disappearance or the death of a person whom an angered god had taken away. In pre-modern Japan, children would often vanish and then reappear at a temple or shrine with tales of being swept away by a god. This is consistent with the conversation Feliciano has with the unnamed entity from the previous chapter. Of course, now that the children have disappeared, only half of the _kamikakushi_, they would eventually reappear... right?

Now there's only the epilogue left!


	12. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

**Seven Years Later**

It was the twelfth of June and a hot summer's day.

"Michelle, Michelle, what does my horoscope say today?"

The seven year old child pulled her eyes away from her astronomy book to smile at her friend. She was a sweet little thing with dark hair was pulled into two long twin-tails with red ribbons and a turquoise one-piece with woven sandals.

"They say Libra has plenty of opportunities today to seize!" Michelle chirped. Recalling what she had read on the Internet earlier, she added, "Your lucky colour today is blue, and it's best if you stay away from bad auras!"

"Then lend me your dress, Chelly!"

"No way! Yours is already pretty enough!"

"But yours is blue! My dress is _pink_!"

Visions flashed through her mind like a burst of photographs in a frenzied slideshow, and fear gradually overcame her like an eerie shadow drowning her in darkness.

"Ah, Emma?"

"Yes?" sang her friend.

"Let's... not eat in the cafeteria today." _There's going to be a fire._

"But we'll get in trouble with the teachers! Why?"

"Because..." _There's going to be a fire._ "...it's so pretty outside!"

"It's fine! We'll be outside at recess!"

"O-Okay..."

The words of her mother rang through her head like warning bells. With each dreadful knell, a dark and heavy sensation overwhelmed her heart, weighing it like lead and dropping it into the pit of her stomach.

_Michelle, your father is an incubus. Do you know what that means?_

_No, Maman, what's that?_

_It means that he's special, and you're special, too. You can't tell anyone about these powers of yours, okay? They'll call you a witch, and witches are bad. Remember all of the stories I've read to you? They'll treat you badly, so you can't ever tell anyone about these powers, okay? Even if... you live longer—much longer—than _Maman_, okay?_

_Maman?_

_In time, _ma douce_, you'll meet your father, but not now._

She tried telling herself everything would be okay. Even through the ash and the soot, she kept telling herself that everything would be okay. One day, she thought to herself as tears blinded her eyes, I'll be like Harry Potter and go to a school where I can fit in. The teachers urged her and the rest of the class to escape, and Michelle managed to stumble outside into the arms of a fireman. Still, a part of her felt guilty. She wasn't able to prevent the fire. She wasn't able to stop the fire. What was the point of having these powers if she couldn't use them?

"I want to hurry and go to Hogwarts," she mumbled to herself.

Later that night, when she was having dinner with her mother, the doorbell rang. The little girl watched as her mother went to retrieve her guest, playing with the food on her plate. Upon hearing more than one set of footsteps, Michelle glanced towards the threshold, where her mother stood with a man whose blond hair was so pale it shone like the platinum glow of the moon and whose blue eyes were so transparent they were like slivers of ice. He had a grizzly beard, and a cigarette well used hung from his lips. He had an air of darkness around him, but he wasn't by any means dangerous—only mysterious and enigmatic.

"Michelle?" the man addressed her calmly in a low, deep voice. He knelt on the floor so that they would make eye contact. "Your _maman _contacted me earlier. Your school had a fire?" Michelle nodded weakly. "You knew about it? You had a vision?" Again, she nodded. "Do you know who I am?" This time she shook her head. "_Je m'appelle Jean-Pierre. Je suis ton père._" He stretched out his hand for her to take. "Do you want to come with me? You don't have to stay here. You can go to a magical world where everyone has powers and abilities like and different from yours."

"Like... Hogwarts?"

"Not quite," he responded slowly and hesitantly, not exactly familiar with popular culture at that time and age, "but close enough. You'll have to leave your _maman_ though. Do you want that? Do you want to stay with your _maman_ and tough it out with her?"

At this, Michelle's mother shook her head and insisted, "Michelle, you'll be happier there. You can learn about all that you are. Don't mind me. Just... come back to visit, okay?"

"_Maman_?"

"Jean, please take good care of her."

"I'll do more than that," Jean-Pierre assured with a gentle smile that contrasted his entire appearance so sharply. "Trust me, Francine. She is my daughter as well, and even a hundred years from now, I will always visit you."

* * *

Li Xiaofan was a Chinese guardian lion who had given birth to a pair of lion cubs on the first of July. "My precious cubs, Li Xiao Mei and Li Xiao Chun," she cooed as she stroked the two lion cubs between their feline ears, giggling at how their tails wagged back and forth listlessly. Everyone smiled warmly at the sight of the new mother as she cradled her cubs who were currently a hybrid between their human forms and lion forms—with their feline ears and tail and small paws—close to her chest. "My children, you will grow big and strong, and you will honour your family by serving your king well." She placed gentle kisses upon both of her cub before closing her eyes to sleep from pure and utter exhaustion.

"Come now, my son," tutted a petite Indian woman as she gestured for her son to follow. A boy with black and white tiger ears and a tail followed after his mother closely. "Visiting time is over. When they grow up big and strong, you can play with them and teach them all that you know. It's only a manner of months, Arjun. Now help me with the laundry."

Arjun, a dark haired boy with dark eyes and dark complexion, nodded in affirmation and seized hold of the fabric of her exotic skirt dyed in bright colours. Mother and son expertly weaved through the crowd as they returned to their own home and their own life. Still, Arjun couldn't help but wonder if there would be a chance for him and the two newly born cubs to play together. After all, newborn familiars were quite rare due to the longevity of the humanoid race that suppressed their primal desire to mate. Since they were able to live longer, the want to reproduce and leave behind generation of offspring was reduced—for practically all races. In the end, nevertheless, Arjun had no one else with whom to play in the neighbourhood.

* * *

On the second of July, Amelia Jones, formerly Amelia Williams, cradled her newborn sons in her arms. "I'll name you..." she hummed in thought while her sister rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Alfred Franklin Jones, and you are Matthew Williams Jones!" The bombshell beamed at her twin and chirped, "Look, I named one after you!"

"Yeah, right," Madeline Williams grumbled under her breath. Her eyes shone behind her glasses as she peered at the twins. "It's strange how they resemble the twins King Arthur used to care for, eh? Is that part of the reason why you've named them Alfred and Matthew?"

"Well, yeah, looks like you've caught me in the act," the other succubus responded sheepishly. She pressed kisses atop their foreheads. "There's no way to find out for sure though unless we pay King Arthur a visit, but he's been so busy that it's almost impossible even to get an audience with him! I can't see souls, and my hubby doesn't know what Alfred and Matthew's souls looked like all of those years ago." She nuzzled their little tufts of hair, humming contently with her new sons. "You two are half-demons, half-incubi, huh? How cute! You're so cute! You probably don't need sex to feed, so that's good news! There's less of a chance that you'll accidentally knock up a random chick off the streets!"

"Amelia!" Madeline gasped.

"What? It's true," her sister responded shamelessly. She turned to her boys and cooed, "You're going to grow up to be handsome young men. Your daddy's a fine demon, after all, even if he's a little mean!"

"A little mean?" Madeline repeated incredulously, breaking her usual passive-aggressive demeanour. "He's short-tempered, sarcastic, and an arrogant delinquent! I don't know what you see in him, Amelia! He calls you 'Sugar Tits,' for Hades' sake! Why in _blazes_ did you marry him? He's not marriage material, you know? He's a player, and he's not even here to witness the birth of his children—military drills or not! If you were still pining for Arthur, then—"

"Maddie!" Amelia exclaimed, interrupting her sister's tirade. She gave the usually timid and polite twin a sheepish grin. "You just don't know him the way I do. He's not that bad—even if he does call me 'Sugar Tits.' It's... complicated."

Madeline merely huffed her agitation and remarked dryly, "I just hope you know what you're doing. At least your babies are cute enough that I'll still agree to help you even if the going gets rough. Alfred and Matthew didn't do anything wrong—unlike their father."

Amelia burst with bubbly laughter and smiled at her sister with gratitude, "Thanks, sis."

The door opened at that moment, making Amelia beam. "Allen!" she cried. "I named them already! They're Alfred Franklin and Matthew Williams Jones!"

A young man with deep auburn hair, tanned skin, and maroon eyes stepped into the bedroom with a devilish grin on his lips. In spite of the darkness of the Underworld, he had a pair of shades atop his head. As he sauntered past his sister-in-law, greeting her with a "Hey, dollface," (and earning a slight glare) he bent over to give his resting wife a brief, chaste kiss. At the display of affection, Madeline promptly left the room to return to the apartment complex where _all_ of the succubus—no matter where they ranked or what they do—resided. "Hey, Sugar Tits," he greeted Amelia before turning to his sons. He ran his hand underneath Alfred's chin, tickling him gently. He spoke with a strong New York accent, contrasting Amelia's more western accent, "You're so small, but I can tell you'll grow into a big one. I'm going to call you Porkchop."

"Allen!" Amelia protested. "But he's so cute!"

"Just watch," Allen remarked teasingly, "one day he's going to stuff himself with his favourite foodstuffs just like you and your hot dogs." His arms wrapped right below her chest as the devilish grin on his lips stretched into a lecherous smirk. "At least for you, it's going somewhere."

"Allen—mm—ngh!"

"It took some time, but it looks like you're ready for the grand stage!"

* * *

Vash grunted dismally while Antonio beamed. Two years ago (five years after Lovino and Arthur's wedding), Antonio had gotten into a traffic accident on rainy London streets while visiting Lovino and Arthur as well as their toddler Marcello, who now appeared around two years of age after seven years of nurture. Now only a year ago (six years into the future from Lovino and Arthur's wedding), Vash had been a second too slow in firing a bullet and was killed by a lone wolf scavenging for food after he thought the beast to have been a hellhound. Gilbert had teased him endlessly about his fatal mistake, remarking that he must have been too excited to become a werewolf. On the other hand, the albino alpha himself was delighted at the aspect of a new recruit, and he kept his promise to Vash (an unnecessary one, the Swiss often pointed out) about securing a position for the former exorcist in his afterlife. Vash was still bitter about leaving his sister in the Surface World, but Gilbert assured him that Lili had new friends to help her through the grieving process. Rather, he had sent Elizaveta to help the poor girl, and Yekaterina Braginskaya ended up accompanying the female alpha in spite of the slightly bitter relations between the two daemon species.

Of course, Vash wasn't the only one with poor luck. Antonio hadn't gotten off easy either. When Lovino saw that Gilbert had kept his end of the bargain about making Antonio a member of Kerberos, the prince consort exploded on both the tomato eating bastard and the albino fleabag of a mutt like no other. Arthur was unable to do anything but shield his poor son's ears during Lovino's tirade. Naturally, Lovino was unable to revoke the decisions made, so Antonio was thrown into a sleek black uniform typical of Kerberos when they are not need to work in plain-clothes.

"Gilbert!" Elizaveta called out to the Head Alpha as she, Roderich, and Ludwig, all three in matching uniforms, approached the albino and their two latest recruits. "We have orders to retrieve a lost soul from the Surface World. It seems as though it's now distressed and is causing a storm off the coast of eastern Japan."

The Head Alpha smirked, causing his lips to stretch widely from ear to ear, and remarked, "Now with an exorcist on our side, this can't possibly be that difficult!"

"We should be able to subdue it with just our eyes," Ludwig pointed out wearily. He then gestured to the weapons strapped to their backs. "Then we just cage it as per usual, _Bruder_. There's no need to pressure Vash into doing something that may be unnecessary. All of this is still very new to him, after all."

Roderich rolled his onyx eyes and glanced over the former exorcist. "Gilbert simply wants to play with his new toys, does he not?"

"Play nice, Roddy," Gilbert teased. "The new beta might get his feelings hurt."

Roderich merely scoffed and rolled his eyes in mild aggravation with Gilbert's frivolous behaviour. He had always expected more dignity from a Head Alpha, but here they were stuck with Gilbert. Of course, it was no secret that the albino was still training Ludwig to take over his position, but it appeared that the young wolf was still miles away from reaching Gilbert's potential as an alpha. Additionally, it didn't help that, to become the Head Alpha, one must overthrow the current head. Despite his flashy appearance and ostentatious manner, Gilbert Beilschmidt was still the strongest werewolf in existence. He had been for a little over a few hundred years now. In terms of records, he was the youngest werewolf ever to become Head Alpha. The others were well over a millennia of age while Gilbert was only a couple of years past five centuries.

"All right, _Dummköpfe_, let's get moving!" the Head Alpha barked as he gestured for his pack to follow after him. Adjusting the military cap on his head to hide the feral, predatory glint in his red eyes, Gilbert sprinted in the direction of the Gate, unrelenting to his followers who remained a good pace or two behind the albino.

After greeting the gatekeepers, the portal to the Surface World opened in front of them. Just as soon as Kerberos was ready to leave the Dark Realm, Mathias and his clan stepped from the other side of the portal. The Chief of the revenants grinned widely at his old friend and greeted him casually, "Hey, Gil! New mission?"

"Yeah, you know, same old thing," the albino responded to his fellow Lord. "You've been terrorising little kids, Mathias?"

The revenant only laughed sheepishly. "I have to eat somehow! I live off fear, you know?" Walking past his canine friend, the Viking mentioned offhandedly, "I'll see you around, yeah? I have to monitor and supervise some initiation rites for the newly revived. Let's drag Arthur's ass to a pub later even if he's busy or not!"

"Awesome! See you then, _mein Freunde_!" With that, Gilbert left Mathias with a snicker and stepped through the dark portal with his second-in-command, Ludwig, following after him. Then Elizaveta entered with Roderich, and Antonio and Vash entered together in anticipation, weary of what was to come. However, the very moment that they stepped ground in Tokyo, Gilbert groaned in exasperation. He palmed his forehead and asked moodily, "Does anyone here speak Japanese?" When nobody replied, he grumbled, "We should have brought Kiku along with us."

At the mention of the fox spirit, Ludwig spoke up, "I have been learning some Japanese from him, but not enough to communicate efficiently."

"Can you at least tell where the hell we are?"

Ludwig narrowed his eyes at a nearby sign, studying the foreign characters, before shaking his head. "Not at all. I don't understand the _kanji_ well." He lowered his hand to the words written in English underneath. "At least we're fortunate that Japan has high tourism, but we can't be certain that every place has English translations."

"Can't we just follow the smell of doom and gloom?" suggested Elizaveta.

Gilbert shook his head. "Please, there's doom and gloom _everywhere_ in Japan whenever it's exam season," the albino reasoned. "It makes it more difficult to track down the one special soul we're looking for." Nevertheless, he sniffed the air once just to obtain a general idea of where their target would be located before gesturing for the others to follow him. "A certain Tanaka-kun has been killed in a traffic collision. He was going to propose to his girlfriend—had the ring ready and everything—but his impatience and anxiety got the better of him. He ended up running a red light, and he was hit pretty badly—died from a brain haemorrhage—or something of the sort."

Elizaveta sighed. "How unfortunate," she murmured quietly. "In the afterlife, marriage and children are only privileges to those born a daemon. Those who are changed into a daemon after death are technically the undead, and the undead cannot reproduce even if they do decide to marry after years and years of courting. As for those who died and became lost souls... well, they don't have any chance except in their next life."

Her voice dropped in disappointment and depression. She always loved children. It was one of the reasons why she enjoyed visiting Arthur and his children, but now they were gone... She couldn't bear to look at the sorrow in his face—in both his and Lovino's eyes, actually. Perhaps it was her maternal instincts. Perhaps it was something else entirely. Either way, she still could not bear her own children. Additionally, with the responsibilities bestowed upon her, it would appear that marriage, too, was a distant dream. Even Amelia Williams managed to marry at her young age, and it was rumoured that there was a maid in the palace that Marianne fancied—one with pretty blond hair and pretty green eyes. On the other hand, Isabel had moved on from Arthur and was notorious for stringing along a number of lovers, and Julchen was immensely satisfied with serving Arthur in the military. For Elizaveta, however, there was hardly any time for the romance for which she yearned. After all, she was still a woman who dreamt of being accepted unconditionally by someone one day. She was honoured, nevertheless, to have been the principal bridesmaid—the Maid of Honour to some—for Prince Lovino Vargas Kirkland. For now, she would be content with just that.

"Lizbet," Gilbert called out to her. She raised her head to make a snide remark before noticing how the albino was uncharacteristically serious. "Focus." It was his way of asking if she was okay.

"I'm always focused," she retorted. That was her way of saying not to worry about it. The brunette didn't notice the sideways glance Gilbert had given her. After all, why would Gilbert be concerned about _her_? If she had noticed, Elizaveta would probably dismiss the glance as concern for the mission's success. She was just one of his subordinates, and the albino wolf was infuriating despite the fact that he was her superior. Rather, the fact that he was her superior itself was entirely infuriating. At any rate, Gilbert was fine with being alone—unlike Elizaveta—and if he was interested in someone, he was infatuated with Madeline Williams, a quiet, demure girl who happened to be extremely polite and practically Elizaveta's polar opposite.

They stopped in the centre of a massive crossing with hundreds of people walking the streets. Ludwig recognised the location as the famed Shibuya scramble crossing Kiku mentioned once or twice in their conversations. Gilbert's eyes flitted about the area as he sensed a familiar peak of energy before ordering his pack to split and search. They were to locate and rendezvous with the Head Alpha later with any news and updates. Their team smoothly separated into pairs. Antonio and Gilbert worked as one unit while Ludwig and Vash were another unit, leaving Elizaveta and Roderich working together. Even as they searched every crook and cranny of the city in both their wolf and human forms, they were unable to discover the location of Tanaka. Meeting with Gilbert in front of the statue of Hachiko, everyone gave the same report to an indifferent alpha. His red eyes were focused on the statue of the dog curiously.

"Hey, Lutz," Gilbert addressed his adoptive brother, "what's the story behind this dog?"

Ludwig was silent before recounting the words Kiku had told him, "He waited for his dead owner to return for nine years in front of Shibuya Station and died in the process."

"Eh..." the albino mused, "I don't know if I can get along with someone who thought that way." His blood red eyes trailed to a young Japanese woman with a pretty face and gentle eyes. She was dressed in nice clothes dyed a light pastel hue and kept glancing at her phone. "Apparently, she's been here for nine hours—just waiting for someone, someone who's not going to come—and that guy over there," Gilbert's eyes flitted to a haggard-looking young man, "has been hesitant about approaching her—not that I'm surprised since he's already dead."

"That's Tanaka?" Elizaveta exclaimed softly underneath her breath. "What's he doing here?"

"I bet he was going to meet her here," Gilbert explained shortly, "to take her on a date. Look around you. How many people are here? It's a popular meeting spot. He never got the chance."

"You knew that?" Roderich accused Gilbert. "You knew, and you still sent us searching for him?"

"I didn't know," the Head Alpha protested. "I assumed that he might still be in that mindset of regret and remorse. I've been looking for hot dating spots with Antonio here—right, Toni?"

"_Sí_," responded the Spaniard. "We even looked inside Disneyland and the local zoo."

Popping his joints, Gilbert sauntered over to the spectre without so much of another word from his subordinates. Before he could address the lost soul, however, a flash of white light blinded him. He winced and stole fleeting glimpses at the source of the brightness. His eyes widened in both shock and surprise, however, when he saw a pair of white wings expand in front of him. Even more incredible was the person bearing those angelic wings.

"Ve, _Signor_ Tanaka, it's time to go. Have you said your goodbyes yet?"

Ludwig was the first to speak, "Feliciano?"

Doubtless, the angel who had descended to the Surface World donned the same exact face as the Italian they had grown to know and adore. Even his voice was the same as ever—speech patterns, tone, and everything—that made it hard to believe otherwise. The only things different about Feliciano were the robes he wore—like those of a priest—with a long red scarf knitted with two white crosses and a pair of long black riding boots. He carried in his arms a thick, leather-bound bible containing hundreds of thousands of holy scriptures and verses that he recited to send Tanaka's lost soul back to the River Vitae, where he would travel to the Otherside and receive judgement. The only thing different about this angel was that it appeared that it was difficult for him to express himself. He wore an empty smile on his lips, and though pleasing on the eyes, it was difficult to understand of what he was thinking. However, despite the change in appearance, the angel seemed to recognise the six werewolves. When Ludwig addressed him, all of his features shifted into something softer, kinder, warmer and gentler ever so gradually. However, those emotions that crept to the surface were fleeting, and his tender smile reverted to one of blankness soon enough.

"Luddy!" he cried, flying straight into the tall blond. Ludwig was barely able to keep the both of them upright with the onslaught of increasing momentum that Feliciano had unknowingly built. "I missed you! Oh, and how's _Fratello_ doing? And Artù? And what about the _babè_? Is he still little? Ve, demons take a long time to grow up, _sì_?"

"Feliciano! Where have you been? What have you been doing?" Ludwig blurted out as he fell back into a lapse of bewilderment. He almost entirely ignored Feliciano's questions—not realising that the Italian had even asked questions—before he met with the angel's expectant gaze. He clearly wanted answers to satisfy his curiosity, and all Ludwig could do was cough awkwardly, trying to clear his throat, and reply with a brusque, "If you wanted to know so badly, couldn't you have visited them?"

"Ve..." sang Feliciano sadly as his gaze dropped to the ground in a display of remorse. Again, for a succinct moment, his emotions were genuine. "I wish I could have, but training took around four years. Then when I was given harder missions, they told me it was forbidden for me to travel to the Underworld where _Fratello_ and Artù are—and the baby, too. After Alfredo, Mateo, Angelica, Jia Long, and Neeraja went back to the Heavens, they haven't gone to visit Earth more often."

"You knew about that?" Gilbert asked frankly.

Feliciano nodded his head glumly. "Everyone kept saying it was about time for them to return because Artù has nurtured them for a long time already. Ve, I know how you have been lonely without them, but I think they're given good homes now. I'm sure we'll see them again."

"That's... good," Elizaveta concluded half-heartedly, unsure of how to take the news. Everything was so sudden, after all. She gave Feliciano a weak smile. "I think your brother will be happy to see you again."

"I can't see him yet," Feliciano answered instantaneously in an almost robotic sort of voice. When he noticed everyone giving him confused expressions, he reluctantly explained himself, "The Emperor hasn't ordained it yet. He says I'm not ready. If I see him when I'm still a greenhorn, then I'll become unstable and fall. Ve, there's no knowing what happens after that." Noticing all of their crestfallen features, he tried to defend himself and tried lightening their moods, "It'll be soon though! The Emperor told me that I could see my nephew soon, and I have to report _everything_ to him! Ve, he seems to care a lot about the baby!"

"I wonder why," Vash thought aloud.

"Isn't it because the baby was his wedding gift?" Feliciano suggested merrily, oblivious to the gawking faces gaping at him. A twinkle of light above caught the Italian's attention. He floated in the air and waved goodbye to all of his friends. "I have to go now, ve! They've summoned me for another soul!"

* * *

"_Are you happy?"_

Feliciano smiled. "Soon, right, _Signore_?"

"_I promise."_

"Then I don't have a reason to be sad." But for some reason, the angel thought remorsefully, these memories, feelings, and experiences don't seem to be mine. It's like they belonged to someone else—like I'm watching events unfold through someone else's eyes. Still, Feliciano couldn't tell the Maker that. He was already grateful that the Emperor had granted him immortality so that he could see his brother again—someday, that is—maybe someday soon.

* * *

"Shit, shit, shit, shit, _shit_!" Lovino cursed in spite of the child of his arms (after all, as Lovino always reasoned, Marcello was too little to know what the hell was going on anyway) as he attempted to put out the blue flames eating away at the crimson and golden threads of the carpet. For a moment, he had spaced out, and the next moment, a blue fire started at his feet. Now he was trying to stomp out the fire, which—surprisingly—didn't burn him. However, these flames were rather stubborn, and it often took a while to get dispelled. Even water couldn't distinguish them, and normally, they would have to wait until Arthur got to the scene since Lovino's soul and Arthur's life essence were a match. "Fucking hell! What's wrong with me?"

"Lovino?" Arthur's voice travelled down the corridor. "Is something the matter?" The Italian's head whipped about face to find his British lover taking long strides down the hallway. Hot on his trail was his familiar servant. Upon finding the source of the disturbance reported to him by the maids, Kiku looked somewhat exasperated. Of course, he would be, Lovino thought wryly. This definitely wasn't the first time it has happened. With a snap of his fingers, Arthur expertly vanquished the flames in a manner that Lovino couldn't. Marcello, who appeared barely two years old, giggled with delight at the magic trick. "This is getting out of hand, my love," Arthur commented with a completely amused smile on his lips as Kiku began to change the carpet with the help of several maids and servants.

Lovino huffed, obviously disgruntled, and folded his arms. "Hey, it's not my fault!" the Italian protested, walking alongside Arthur, as they made their way to his study. His cries faltered the moment they slipped past his lips. He then added shortly, "I think."

The truth was that, after helping Arthur purify Mordred seven years ago, Lovino's supposed powers remained dormant until the previous few months when they sparked again—nay, not _sparked_, per se_—exploded_, more like. His abilities suddenly fired, and he didn't know how the hell to control them since he had never gone through training like the other mages in the Underworld. He wasn't even sure how this was even possible. Fourteen years ago, he was a regular human, and psychic powers were something of an urban myth—especially when his grandfather was concerned. Now the circumstances have changed to the point where magic does more than exist. It lives in each and every one of them—in the trees, in the flowers, in the earth, in humans, in animals, and _especially_ in daemons—but Lovino was still very much new with the concept of controlling and manipulating magic.

"How did this even happen to me?" the brunet found himself asking his husband as he bounced Marcello in his arms. "I used to be completely normal. I couldn't even see the River Vitae or any ghosts or any of that paranormal shit."

"I would assume that my demon blood has mingled with your Vargas blood," Arthur deduced, letting Lovino's profanity slide for now, given his consort's distress. "Additionally, your grandfather was said to have his own psychic abilities. Maybe you had inherited some of those properties as well. With your increased exposure to magic, that probably caused a spike in your abilities with your blood acting as the medium."

"That's crazy," Lovino grumbled. "That's just crazy." When Marcello tugged on his brown hair, demanding just a little bit more attention, the Italian asked of his British lover, "Is that why Marcello's slow at ageing? He's been stuck at two years old for the longest time! Is that normal?"

"You've seen Peter and Kaelin," Arthur reminded. "They barely look fourteen, fifteen years old now, and it's been seven years since you've first met them as well." Taking care to answer his Italian lover's question, the Demon King responded, "You are correct though. Magic plays a role in ageing for daemons. For the daemons who are cursed—or blessed—into an eternal existence after the death of their human life, they are stuck forever at the age they were last. For instance, Gilbert remains twenty-six because he died at twenty-six. You can see that with Antonio as well.

"For the daemons who are born into such an existence, however, it depends on the amount of magical affinity they have. With less magic, one ages faster, and physical growth is thereby stunted at the peak of one's physical prime. The Frog is also physically twenty-six years old because that was when his strength was the greatest. A better example would be Yao Wang. As the Scribe, he is the oldest daemon in the Dark Realm, but he doesn't appear to have a greying beard or anything of the sort because his physical prime was around... whatever age he appears to be—twenties, thirties, forties, etcetera, In other words, magic slows physical development, so demons and angels, being creatures with the most affinity for magic, have the slowest growth rate amongst the other daemons. Thus, Marcello's slow growth is normal for daemons. We should be fortunate that he isn't vomiting fireballs."

"_Che cazzo_?!" Lovino exclaimed with astonishment most prominent in his visage. "Is _that_ normal?"

"That was what Seamus did as an infant when he was first acquainted with his magic. You can't expect daemons to be able to control magic automatically; it's something that's learnt, as you can see," Arthur responded sheepishly. "Peter, on the other hand, burnt his entire room once when he used to be afraid of the dark. A revenant had opened the wrong portal and sneaked into the wrong room. He made the poor lad piss his pants, traumatising him for a good while. It was a good laugh though. Likewise, I heard that Owain couldn't stop accidentally setting things on fire whenever he sneezed around the time when he first started learning how to control his powers as well, and Alistair, well, the bugger had a nasty temper and ended up raising the surrounding temperature according to his mood."

Lovino tried to return his amused grin, but he couldn't help but feel concerned for their child—especially when he would start learning about magic as well. Sensing his discomfort, Arthur chuckled softly. "He'll be okay, my dearest spitfire," the Briton assured his consort as he wrapped an arm around his waist. "He has us."

"I guess..." Lovino responded wearily. Nevertheless, he inched closer to Arthur's warmth. Marcello climbed from Lovino's arms into Arthur's, who caught the infant smoothly before he could slip and fall. "So you were talking about your brothers... but what about you?"

Arthur's cheeks flushed a deep scarlet. "What about me? I was nothing special."

"Tell me!" Lovino insisted, poking and prodding Arthur in his side. "I want to know! This is background information to help me learn what to expect, you know?"

That didn't ease the colour in Arthur's cheeks—not that Lovino wanted that self-satisfying hue to fade away. The King struggled to find the words to tell Lovino about his childhood until he responded weakly, "I was usually too tense to let my powers go berserk. The only time I lost control was when I almost burnt an entire wing of the castle while practising in the cellars. A spell went wrong, and my powers went out of control because I was afraid I _couldn't_ control them, inhibiting my focus and concentration. My father managed to stop me in time—with Merlin's and a few more sorcerers' combined effort."

Lovino's face paled.

"Well, damn," he mused after a while. Sighing, Lovino commented, "And I keep lighting up the floor wherever I go. How are we going to help Marcello?"

"First," Arthur spoke up with a soft smile, "we need to get _your_ powers under control."

"And how are we going to do _that_?"

"When there's a will, there's a way," Arthur replied cheekily. He opened the door to his study, revealing Yao Wang as well as Vladimir and Lukas standing amongst the many tomes and grimoires they had set aside for teaching purposes. "Lovino, meet your tutors for the next few months. I'm sure you know them already."

Yao smirked slightly. "You ready for your royal lessons, princess?"

"Goddammit."

* * *

**A/N:** Maybe you can think of it as a happy ending? Or maybe a bitter-sweet ending?

At any rate, thanks to all of those who followed or added this story to their favourites or reviewed! It really means a lot to me.

Also, this is the first time I've written a sequel. I didn't like it as much as its prequel though because I felt like I squeezed in too much in oh-so many chapters. It's even less than _Sympathy for the Devil_ in word count. I wonder if this is how screenwriters feel about their second movie in comparison to the first... This story was supposed to delve deeper into Arthur's past and reveal Lovino's future as Arthur's consort. I think I succeeded with the first part, haha. There's not much more King Arthur history for me to use for this universe. If there's a third part, which I highly doubt, it would have been a story that switches between Feliciano and the Heavens, Arthur and Lovino's adventures, and Marcello's identity and character as well as the reborn guardian spirits... but, for me right now, that's just too much work, ha.

So now I leave you with this last tid-bit that I tacked onto the ending because I felt like it. See you around?

* * *

**Extra**

Arthur hummed contently to The Beatles as he finished circumscribing the pentagram on the floor of his study with a piece of white chalk while holding an open tome in one of his hands. Lovino eyed his husband with slight intrigue as he bounced Marcello atop his knee. The English gentleman then snapped the tome shut in one fluid motion before gesturing elegantly towards Lovino to approach the magic circle. Wearily, Lovino inched closer to the magic device and handed Marcello to Arthur in the process.

"What is this?" the Italian asked of his British lover.

"Just channel some of your energy into it," Arthur chirped. Behind him, Lovino could see Vladimir, Lukas, and Yao watching him intently, making the brunet feel even more anxious and nervous than before. "We're going to have you summon your familiar. Having one will come in handy during your magic studies."

"My familiar?" Lovino repeated sceptically as he cast a glance towards Yao. "I don't want to summon an anal bastard like him." When he saw Yao bristling, Lovino trained his eyes entirely on his lover, who was chuckling in amusement. "What? Did I say something wrong, bastard?"

"Not at all," Arthur responded still as cheerfully as before. He seemed to be in a good mood, Lovino noted cautiously as he eyed his lover with slight suspicion evident in his gaze. Arthur seemed to be delighting in his studies and royal lessons. "There's no guarantee that you'll end up with someone like Yao though."

"It'd be even better if I summoned someone as diligent as Kiku, dammit," Lovino remarked dryly.

In the background, Yao took great offence at the preference of his younger brother even though he was the high ranking—_higher_ ranking, even—official. He was even more aggravated at the fact that the lovebirds spoke as if he wasn't even present. In the meanwhile, Vladimir was stifling his laughter—and failing to do so—at Yao's annoyance, and Lukas was merely staring at the current circumstances blankly as though he was listing all of the places he would much rather be than here. As much as Arthur was his friend, and a good friend at that, Lukas had better things to do than watch him flirt with his wife—err, spouse.

"Simply channel your energy into the circle," Arthur instructed. "That can't be too hard considering how you nearly burnt the corridor earlier."

Lovino's cheeks flushed red with shame and embarrassment. "Ch-chigi!" he shrieked. "S-Shut the fuck up about that already, you snarky bastard!" Without even realising what he was doing, blue flames licked at the white chalk dusting the floor, and Lovino nearly leapt away from the azure fire until Arthur's voice commanded him to remain there—stern and firm. The Italian gulped nervously but listened to his lover.

"Close your eyes and search without your thoughts and emotions, and call forth your familiar," Arthur informed lowly. "You'll find the words to summon him—or her—from within your core. That will form your connection, and you'll bring him/her from his/her resting place. The familiar that will arrive will be the one with the greatest affinity with your soul. In my case, it was the match between my life essence and Kiku's soul."

The brunet heeded his advice and closed his eyes, searching amongst his frenzied mind, digging a little deeper to find the proper words. Eventually, he spoke, "This is embarrassing. Hurry up and come out from wherever you are, you little bastard." His words made Arthur crack a smile, and Vladimir nearly doubled over with laughter while Lukas chuckled briefly. Lovino's choice of words were definitely a little different than the usual, "I call you from the eternal abyss; come forth and answer to your master!" The blue flames surrounding Lovino leapt forth, reaching the heights of the ceiling, making Vladimir, Lukas, and Yao step back from fear that something had backfired, before dying gradually. The white lines Arthur had traced on the floor had been wiped away, and in what would be the centre of the pentagram was a single kitten that was only a few months old.

His white fur coat was patched with brown on his head, left leg, tail, and back while a long strand of fur curled slightly on the left side of his head. He whimpered slightly when he attempted to open his eyes in response to the strong lighting of his surroundings, but he managed to get on his four feet and wander towards Lovino's feet. He mewed softly, a peculiar cry surrounding similar to his brother's own "ve, ve" noises, and nuzzled Lovino gently. The Italian bent over, somewhat mystified, and picked up the cat into his arms.

"It's not even a humanoid familiar," Yao mused aloud. "That's quite rare. Honestly, I haven't even seen this one around before. Normally, all the records of new familiars would have told me if there's a new cat."

"I think I know why he can't transform into a human," Arthur declared as he stepped closer to Lovino and his new familiar. "His soul is incomplete, a rare phenomenon as well. It only ever happens if the Emperor requires a particular soul for his own whims." And of the fragmented soul, Arthur noted, it's eerily familiar. He recognised it as no different from Feliciano's soul and couldn't help but wonder what the Emperor had done with the other part of the whole. He'll have to talk to Lovino about it later—but not any time at all near right now.

Just as Vladimir was about to ask about the familiar's name, Lukas elbowed his companion harshly. Unknowing of his own strength, the vampire hissed at the sudden jolt of pain in his ribs. He pouted at the revenant, who merely gave him a glance reading, "Give them their alone time." Vladimir sealed his lips tightly shut when he realised that Arthur and Lovino had barely acknowledged his outcry and rolled his eyes at the lovey-dovey couple in front of him.

"Do you know his name?" Arthur asked his lover. "You're the only one with a connection with him, after all."

Lovino thought for a moment as he attempted to recall any name. Just as soon as he was about to respond with a shake of his head, the cat in his arms meowed once again, and a brief thought occurred to him like a short and succinct epiphany. "Gino," the Italian answered. "That's his name."


End file.
